Marionette

Twisted fibrous strings
command frivolous play
at jointed limbs.
We dance and are jigged –
woefully rigged
when each jarring movement
is in turn deliberately
fraught with venomous tugs –
Each jolt brings attempted revolt,
but the puppeteer snarls –
our lifelines become gnarled,
entangled in his bitter torture.
Unravelling his capture he spins
and mocks till we are unmeshed –
shocked – till we don’t know if we are
coming or going.
Wooden shoes clatter,
as smaller figures who don’t matter,
play to an audience
and bleed
into the pockets of the puppeteer’s
greed.
Swift but doleful we have become,
dancing to the puppeteer’s hum.
Lifeless, hung out,
no route of escape.
We dance and we clip clop
a charade
man made, pulled
and lulled along
by a succession of tyrants
who just want
to see us wriggle
and squirm like
the moth eaten marionette –
always ruled –
once unfurled.

 

 

 

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