42.Tugged
The hand jerked as it was tugged,
the feet wobbled before rest,
the head twisted and split in twain,
the strings attached were one and same.
The glasses worn were white and black,
the feelings were split and intact,
the words spoken and feelings said,
were shrouded, fogged, and dead.
The tongue drawered and eyes laid,
the puppeteer flogged and swayed.
The puppet's smile still bright and fine,
while twisted head, and no insight.
The puppeteer flogged and ran at bay,
for whipped was he as well as payed.
Life was broken, strings attached,
were none but all and tame.
The puppets had then fallen away
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Author:
PennedAI (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: December 3rd, 2024 09:45
- Comment from author about the poem: Returning to poetry after a break, starting anew with newfound inspiration. Feel free to leave comments
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 26
Offline)
Comments2
this is a fascinating write, leading this reader to wonder where the puppet ends and the puppeteer begins. Maybe we are all puppets more than puppeteers. Good, thoughtful writing.
Compelled reading, better direction given than a film script. Like riding a roller coaster 🎢
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