Saturday, November 1, 2014

The Puppeteer

Some days

I feel like my string is breaking

A string so tattered

So frayed

I’m surprised it still holds me at all

The others

You see

Have all broken

The Puppeteer is starting to lose control

But was he ever really in control?

Maybe, just maybe

He’s been cutting them

One by one

Slicing my strings so slowly

So as for me not to notice

Watching me struggle

Is far more entertaining


I sway back and forth

Looking upwards, I look

At what’s left of my string


I’ve found myself

At the end of my rope

So I wait

As the clock hands move swiftly through the good parts of the day

Yet slow

Barely a crawl

When the world is coming down on my shoulders


Life’s hourglass has dropped another grain

Bringing me closer to the end

But the city still seems alive

Like nothing’s wrong with my string that’s almost broken

Cars move along the freeway at night

Their dull glowing headlights

Look like a river of fireflies

A smeared glowing line of life disappearing off in the distance

And the mornings never stop for the weary

They move along like rats in a maze

On their way to work for their boss to belittle them

To school, to learn nothing about art 

To play, to have fun with others

All keep moving past me

As I wait watching with worry filling my eyes

At the last threads of my sting unwind

And the Puppeteer grins with his crooked smile

This poem is from my book : Petals Falling

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