They Know Not Of The Strings

A shimmer of scales, a flicker of light,

In the depths where the currents swirl tight,

A fish with no heartbeat, no pulse, no breath,

Glides through the waters, deceiving in stealth.

It swims with a grace that's almost divine,

Its fins cut the water, a perfect design,

But hollow inside, it knows no true course,

Yet leads the others with a powerful force.

The real fish follow, they circle and spin,

Drawn to the gleam of its shimmering skin,

They trust in its path, though it knows not the way,

Enchanted by glitter, they drift and they sway.

But the currents they follow are not of their kin,

The tides that they chase are born of within,

For the fish that they shadow is crafted by hand,

A puppet of wires, not of sea nor of land.

In the depths of the ocean, where truth often sinks,

They mirror its movements, unblinking, no links,

Blind to the artifice, the lie that they swim,

Through waters of doubt, their own lights grow dim.

And so too do we, in the oceans of mind,

Follow the gleam, leave the truth far behind,

Drawn to the shine of what we believe,

Yet the heart of the matter is hard to retrieve.

For the idols we follow, the paths that we tread,

Are carved by the hands of the unseen instead,

In waters of thought, we are but the school,

Led by illusions, deceived by the tool.