Array ( [sid] => 135705 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => The Puppet Story [time] => 2007-07-04 04:01:55 [hometext] => Read this slow, and let it sink in. Personally I love the way this turned out! Really empty, hopeless. Is that a good thing? [bodytext] => The curtain is pulled,
and light floods the stage.

'Tap, tap, tap."
It taps it's foot against the floor.
Then the music begins play.

The painted smile
on the puppets face,
is pleasant but far from warm.
It's colorful costume,
flows along in sequience.
Though it appears free in it's dance
it's all just the typical norm.

Up above,
is the puppetier.
And the stage of life is now!

Below we dance
for the world to see.
And above is God.
Pulls our strings.

The puppetier
with the movment of artist.
A flick of the wrist,
it kicks it's leg.
a twitch of a finger
and it can groove to the music.

The audience laughs,
entertained, joyful.
And if it could
the puppet would smile.

It could long
for freedom.
To dance and sing and laugh

on it's own.

But it can't.
So it won't.
And "life" goes on.

With it's strings it can dance.
Mind you,
the puppetier helps.

With out these strings,
what would he do?
Sit on a shelf,
day in and day out?
Would that be happiness?

It's too late now.
To dream of freedom...
These string were all it's ever known.
So this is all it can hope to be.

The curtain closes,
after the puppet clown
takes it's robotic bow.
Darkness gulps up the stage.
and the little wooden doll goes limp,
then falls with a clatter.

Yes...
This is all the puppet can hope to be.




[comments] => 2 [counter] => 238 [topic] => 13 [informant] => untitled [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry ) Your Poetry Dot Com - The Puppet Story


The Puppet Story
Date: Wednesday, 4th July 2007 @ 04:01:55 AM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: untitled
The curtain is pulled,
and light floods the stage.

'Tap, tap, tap."
It taps it's foot against the floor.
Then the music begins play.

The painted smile
on the puppets face,
is pleasant but far from warm.
It's colorful costume,
flows along in sequience.
Though it appears free in it's dance
it's all just the typical norm.

Up above,
is the puppetier.
And the stage of life is now!

Below we dance
for the world to see.
And above is God.
Pulls our strings.

The puppetier
with the movment of artist.
A flick of the wrist,
it kicks it's leg.
a twitch of a finger
and it can groove to the music.

The audience laughs,
entertained, joyful.
And if it could
the puppet would smile.

It could long
for freedom.
To dance and sing and laugh

on it's own.

But it can't.
So it won't.
And "life" goes on.

With it's strings it can dance.
Mind you,
the puppetier helps.

With out these strings,
what would he do?
Sit on a shelf,
day in and day out?
Would that be happiness?

It's too late now.
To dream of freedom...
These string were all it's ever known.
So this is all it can hope to be.

The curtain closes,
after the puppet clown
takes it's robotic bow.
Darkness gulps up the stage.
and the little wooden doll goes limp,
then falls with a clatter.

Yes...
This is all the puppet can hope to be.






This poem is Copyright © untitled


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