The Puppet Master pulled the strings,
The wooden puppet danced.
An evil grin spread across his face
And back and forth he glanced.
“I am the Puppet Master,
You move to my decree.
You’re just a lifeless marionette
That must rely on me.”
“Bow down to me you piece of pine,
You have no mind or will,
So everything that I command
You always must fulfil.”
He moved the crossed controlling sticks,
An arm lifted, then a leg.
The puppet bowed its wooden head,
But he couldn’t make it beg.
The Puppet Master tugged the strings,
His taunting turned to ire.
He yanked the sticks this way and that,
“I’ll toss you on the pyre!”
The marionette slowly raised its head
And grinned a macabre smile,
It’s gaudy painted puppet’s face
Contorted and defiled.
Terror filled the Master’s eyes,
His mouth could spill no words.
And as the puppet sprang to life
Only screaming could be heard.
They found him in his workshop,
Sightless eyes frozen in dread,
A bloody slash across his throat,
A hatchet buried in his head.
A marionette sat on the shelf,
Its strings, it seems, were cut.
Just a lifeless wooden doll
A craftsman had made..but!
So, don’t be quick to persecute,
Belittle or abuse.
Don’t be a Puppet Master,
Or in the end..you’ll lose!”
John Hansen © 2020