The Puppeteer

Sci fi/Fantasy image by

Hannah Bridgeman

The PuppeteerThe strings that hold her are made of lies,Of broken hearts and children's cries,Bound is she with love and loss,To this rotten splintering cross.With tattered grown and shattered voice,She walks though life with out a choice,And watches herself slowly die,With now one there to hear her cry.Her mangled hope has long since gone, And now she lives to just walk on,With no one there to hear her plea,She's bound in shadows... No longer free.And yet she sees though all this fear,That there is one, this Puppeteer,Who guides her pains and makes them real,And makes them things that she can feel.Then forced to dance and forced to walk,Forced to smile and forced to talk,The way she takes looks so unclear,But she's guided by, this Puppeteer.She'll live like this until the day,The world itself has passed away,Sitting forgotten on a shelf,Dying, bleeding, by herself.And the comfort, that with it, her death brings,Will be the end of these sad things,And only one shall linger near...Her sneering master... The Puppeteer.The picture was a result of the poem... Fancy that. It was just an idea I liked, a person turned into a puppet by some sick twisted deity who had nothing better to do with his time.


Published More than a year ago

Category Fantasy



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