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.
Random Meanderings 