without effort
he reached in to my glass box
took hold of my heartstrings
lifting me carefully, lovingly
he pulled me and played me

and oh, how I danced for him
tied to his fingertips
twisting and twirling
just a flick of the wrist and
my head nodded
I bowed and swung

how easily he moved me
how simple a thing
and when he relaxed his grip
I collapsed in a heap
looking, waiting for his next motion
waiting and waiting
feeling those strings quiver and sigh

then in he’d reach again
my purpose renewed, my heart soared
ready and willing I reveled

until one day he set me down
stroked my pale cheek
and told me he had loved playing me
told me I was important
told me to keep on dancing

then he cut my strings
and walked away
without so much as a glance back
oh, how I watched
for him to turn around
oh, how I wait for him still

I don’t dance and twirl anymore
no, I’m laying right where he left me
see, a marionette can’t dance alone

©️tara caribou – 2018

22 thoughts on “Marionette

    1. Thanks Mark. I am kind of a downer, aren’t I? I’ve tried writing “up” stuff…. it doesn’t fit well. Like clothes you outgrew six years ago but you’re just sure you should still be able to wear them.


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