The Puppeteer

I clasped my hands around your love

Joyful, hopeful, patient

You were there, I saw you

But did you see me?

I came and I left

I rushed around to fulfil your love

Relentless in my approach

Did I ever even have my own thought?

Eloquence is beauty

But only when the words are your own

Puppeteering graciously

I watched, I stood by, I longed

But the puppet master became too hard headed

The puppets softness was broken

A permanent break, perhaps

The puppet learning to be himself, forever

The puppet raised his hands himself

Heroically stating he was good enough to do so

Could he cut his own strings?

Or did he choose to let the strings be and work within the box of freedom?

He put his hands back down

And thought to himself

Aha - thinking by myself

Is that not freedom in itself?