The Puppet

The puppet bounces, bounces,

Strings pulled ever taut.

Individual thoughts of its own,

The puppet is allowed not.

Possessed against will,

Obsessed with freedom, too.

But what untimely demise

Shall it finally succumb to?

Jaw always jabberin’-jawin’,

Limbs and body jerked

Against its own desires—

The puppet becomes irked.

It wields a pair of scissors

And defies the Puppet Master;

Cuts one string, then another,

Slicing faster, faster, faster.

With bonds destroyed, broken,

It sighs, smiles, beams.

It runs away, to return one day,

Revenge in its eyes agleam.

© 2012 by Jonathan Edward Ondrashek