Who Pulls Her Strings
I saw her stand
in that quiet room,
her shadow tall
against the wall.
Thin wires rose
from her hidden spine,
they trembled once
as if they breathed.
Her eyes were wide
like stolen moons,
they held a truth
she could not speak.
The world moved close
to watch her sway,
a figure caught
between two worlds.
Her hands reached out
as if for calm,
yet nothing came
to guide her home.
I heard a cry
inside the dark,
a whispered name
she wished she had.
I wondered then
who pulls her strings,
who keeps her still
when she wants more.
She turned to me
as if she knew,
and in that stare
I felt her break.
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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More stories from Marie381Uk and writers in Poets and other communities.
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By Angie the Archivist 📚🪶3 days ago in Petlife
Comments (1)
I think at times we are all puppets and/or puppet masters.