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The Puppet Master

You are the puppet master,
Holding strings of precious gold.
Attached to all those humbled,
Manipulated and humiliated.
While you are liberated,
From hard work and troubled times.
You are the cause to the effected;
The boss to the dejected.
You are the puppet master,
Wrenching hearts of precious gold,
And your game does not get old.
Never tired with your toys.
Employing sneak attacks with guiltlessness,
Promiscuous with witlessness,
While jerking dolls around,
Bad habits are abound.
How utterly profound.
You are the puppet master,
Quite an exploiting bastard,
Pulling strings at every turn.
Cutting corners, saving face,
Snappy comments on disgrace,
Never looking at yourself.
Pointing fingers at hard workers,
Taking advantage of every person.
How truly disgusting you really are,
Surprisingly sick and twisted by far,
Underneath your skin of gentleness,
Your lying monologue is endless,
About how things “really are.”
You are the puppet master,
Distorted mind of rapture.
Playing games with those around you,
Never losing, always winning,
Never truthful, always sinning,
While pulling at those lines,
Hanging nooses of the times,
Your cast is swaying in the breeze,
Of your contempt and misery.
And you laugh at your good fun,
And ignore the damage done,
Since you will never lose.
Until today.
You are the puppet master,
Holding strings of precious gold.
One of your toys has gotten old.
Wisdom with old age,
Finally ready to turn the page,
But not before turning the scissors
On the puppet master,
What a stupid bastard,
Who thought he’d always win.
Well, won’t he be chagrined,
When his very favorite toy,
No longer wants to be employed,
By his witless ways.
It’s the dawn of a new age.
Saying goodbye to the senseless sage.
Cutting the strings of a bad mission,
It’s the master’s turn for submission,
Before bad things start to happen.
You were the puppet master,
Better run now, faster!
The toy has got the strings now,
And you can’t figure out how,
That is the idiocy of your ways.
I bet you’ll be amazed,
When you’re left with only strings,
And no more dull play-things.
Just you, alone again,
With your imaginary friend,
Who laughs at your misgivings,
And all the love you’re missing.
Since you jerked your strings around,
And then your world fell down.
They toys rose up to overthrow,
And now you’ve no where to go,
And no one to push or shove,
Since your world fell from above
With a blaring, crashing sound.
You were the puppet master,
Ha ha, you stupid bastard.
Now the tables have turned.
And what exactly have you earned?
And what, if anything, have you learned?
Doesn’t matter much to me,
I’m cutting strings quite blissfully.
See ya around some time, perhaps,
And maybe if I get the chance,
I’ll attach some strings around your throat,
And I’ll be the only one to gloat,
Since I’ll be the new and better,
Puppet Master.

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If you liked this, check out these other cool poems!

Forgotten Red Rose Bush

I Want To Sleep

Three Days

 

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