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Puppeteer
Curtains raise, they take the stage,
     mute actors that never age.
The clouds are cotton, the floor is pine,
     the souls bound up in fine twine.

Crowds will cheer, the players dance,
     flowing scene to scene as in a trance.
The world is perfect, they never whine,
     for there's not a single will, save mine.

The play has ended, we take a bow,
     but the viewers are the actors now.
When freed from decision, of thought and blame,
     we'll walk to another drum just the same.
 
 
 
 


 
 




 
puppet theater
dolls are silent and unchanging
stage is a mock up of the world
marionettes are given an appearance
    of life by their strings

expressions are frozen
with only one mind there can never
    be disagreement nor decent



if we don't think for ourselves
    someone else will do it for us