It started as a story

As old as all of time

Barely changed by history

Relieved of any rhyme.

A play upon a stage

The actors held on strings

To perform at any age

Both sad and glorious things.

We agreed to take the part

Not knowing how to feel

But like a puppet’s heart

Just wishing to be real.

Pulled in that and this way

Lifted time again

Our body, arms and legs sway

Dangled by some thread.

We have this opportunity

To act the story out

In whichever way we see to tell

What it’s all about.

We rise and fall with ease

Under power not our own

And dance upon a breeze

While longing to go home.

We wish for some control

Not knowing how it’s done

But the curtains too soon close

Like the setting sun.

If only we could see

That there is nothing at all to fear

For we are not the puppet,

We are the puppeteer.