A PUPPET

A puppet on a string.
Creepy.
Surreal.
Never in control.
At someone’s beck and call.
It must end.

Before it’s too late.
Before I turn to wood.
Before I become a Pinocchio.
No puppet life for me.
I will stand up for myself.
I will throw off my strings.
I will walk on my own.
I will be free at last.
Never to be
someone’s puppet
ever again.

OLD GLORY

Step inside.
I was once a beautiful gazebo.
People would use me for parties.
There would be dancing.
Children would play their games,
like hide and seek.
The sun favored me.
The moon adored me.
I could do no wrong.
Then weeds began to grow.
I began to splinter apart.
There would be no more visitors.
Why you may ask?
I was a casualty of time.
Time passed and
so did my glory.