Multiple puppetmasters
Each yanking on a string
Ignoring the yelling
From the bleeding puppet
One says up
One says down
Another tries for round and round
The puppet cries
For release and hope
Smacked on the floor
To silence his screams
A briefest moment
The masters sleep
Letting his strings hang loose
With battered limbs
And tattered heart
He struggles to his feet
His bloodshot eyes
Set on a distant door
A stumble run
Is what he tries
It’s all he has the strength for
Freedom is within his grasp
Until the waking masters
Drag him back
By his unbreakable strings
Wow…. great piece… very vivid, descriptive, and so sad for the puppet…
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Thanks. It was entirely off the cuff too, so I’m surprised it came out so well.
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Some of the best stuff emerges from that kind of situation! 😉
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Love this Charles, very powerful
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Thanks. The imagery was rattling in my head yesterday and it was still around when I woke up, so I cranked out the poem to see where it went.
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It went to greatness
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All at once horrible and awesome…
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