Marionette::

I will not be pulled by your myriad strings
Pulled into raising my hands in defeat
Dropped into a state of despair and deceit
With a sentence, a glance or a shake of the head
I’ll cut through my strings long before I am dead.

When you shout to me "Play!"
When you jeer to me "Laugh!"
When you find you can hold up my frail whitenened hands
When you pull me in time
With your sickening rhymes
I’ll be here in your dreams
When your life’s passing by.

So in time with your locks
And in step with your keys
And inside of your travelling boxes so mean
I’ll be rid of the strings
When you open the latch
In the dark of the hour
When the time seems to lapse
You’ll be wrought with despair
In blue smoke laden air
As I find my own strings
And begin to repair.

-Kimberly N. Hunt 
12-5-97
(c)1997