Puppet.

I see you, you judgemental bastard.

This body is just a cover, for the story is within.

You are just the puppet, my string's have been cut.

You work and slave in a mindless haze.

You may have the car and the big house.

But I have my freedom and my honor.



Poetry by stophercromwell
Read 284 times
Written on 2011-04-16 at 08:42

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countryfog
Your poem seems, well, judgmental. I have lived long enough to have been both puppet and puppet-master, neither a choice really but a response to the circumstances and responsibilities of life, first to family, later to myself. Neither is right or wrong, simply necessary.
2011-04-16



Then each are content with what they have.
2011-04-16