Puppet Master

The world whirrs and whispers,
The flowers shrink and hide,
Can bear to hear the screams,
That the family lock inside.

The freshly painted picket fence,
Hides the sleeping darkness,
That feeds the weeds and spiders,
That spin the webs of starkness.

The house that stands before them,
Seems a mansion to its passers,
The children wear an empty smile,
Stitched there by their masters.

For outside they are numb,
And inside they are broken,
They can not learn how to feel,
Until the master’s spoken.

Sunlight creeps through openings,
That widen as time passes,
Allowing children to roam free,
Escape from selfish masters.

Currently unavailable for purchase



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