Friday, February 1, 2013

The Puppeteer

The strings tied to my wrists
Show my master insists
I awake and rehearse
Sing, dance, or recite a verse
Every day comes a play
Someone new to portray
I’ve worked without question
Not one indiscretion
But in this odd season
I committed treason
My eyes wandered above
To the man we all love
And I watched with such awe
Though I remembered our law
Don’t stare at the master
It’ll be a disaster
I forced myself away
And continued to obey
But his talent and skill
All his power and will…
These words plagued me at night
How could he hold such might?
It was dangerous, yes
But if I must confess
I looked up every day
Even as I decayed
That’s why looking is grim
To the ones at his whim
I was sure death would come
But to that I was numb
For all I could do now
Was stare and wonder “how?”
Slowly my strings detached
And I grew unattached
Slowly a body formed
I began to transform
I grew five times in size
Had fingers and then eyes
I was like the Puppeteer!
I could see, touch, and hear
Now the strings of my past
I could control, at last

~*~*~*~*~
I know. It hurts to read. But it was the one of three poems I wrote for creative writing that didn't make me want to shoot myself in the head.

But anyways, I just wanted to document it here.
~Becky

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"Science and science fiction have done a kind of dance over the last century... The scientists make a finding. It inspires science fiction writers to write about it, and a host of young people read the science fiction and are excited, and inspired to become scientists...which they do, which then feeds again into another generation of science fiction and science..."
- Carl Sagan, in his message to future explorers of Mars.