Puppet
Sweet little puppet in your master's hands,
How can you bear this sense of impotence?
Dangling from naught but a few feeble strings,
Dancing and soaring on angels' wings.
Twisted and jerked into any position,
How can you take such ruthless oppression?
Created to succumb into helpless passivity,
Never given the right to possess sweet liberty.
Yet you dance with that gleam in your eye,
Such vibrancy and passion no money can buy.
What makes you stay with monsieur puppeteer?
Is it the fame he brings you or just fear?
Ah, little puppet I read your mind,
Such love you hold is hard to find.
Control and torture you though he may,
Your love for him will never sway.
Alas, little puppet you are just a toy,
A lifeless object bringing temporary joy.
In his eyes you cost nothing more than gold,
You poor, pathetic, pitiful soul.
Such things are impossible to contemplate,
It is a storm you face that will never abate.
So here I'll leave you, sweet little puppet,
Think no more in your lonely dark closet.