++ Puppets ++

Puppets...
Tied by the strings of old traditions,
Controlled by shadows of the past,
Dancing along some foreign tunes,
Moving endlessly and unaware of,
The meanings of their existence...

And puppets are just puppets,
Such are slaves to their [unknown] masters,
Living not a world of their own,
But a play filled with irony and hypocrisy,
Where silence and blindness are the themes...

When the strings are cut, tell me,
What will become of these puppets?
Will they move on their own,
or will they be without power,
For none will determine for them?

So tell me, what will become of us?
The puppets... in a play we call -life-.

Sydney, 30 Oktober, 22:18 pm