A puppeteer, you may call it,
the master of manipulation.
All his fingers hold the knots,
to the cracks in your foundation.
Hidden by your tall, lean shadow,
he lurks behind your back;
forward, with every move you make,
warlock takes his attack.
Each digit fidgets suddenly,
and your body seems to twitch;
the hands of time stop ticking now,
trapped in by the witch.
The only sound that you can hear,
is the crying of the dead;
a mournful, sad melody,
that plays often in your head.
You think, “maybe, I’ll get a break”,
he’s tricked you into believing,
the more you do for him,
the less that you’ll be breathing.
He takes you in and sucks you up,
and you would never know,
the strings in which he has you tied,
lets him be in control.
This is a standard format poem, with 6 stanzas, each following an ABAB rhyming technique. "Puppeteer" is one of the first poems I ever wrote in which I never tossed aside. In fact, it may behoove you to know that I don't actually remember the writing process; perhaps due to it being so long ago, but I'd suggest a darker justification. I was younger, and in pain, and mad at whomever might be watching. The titled "puppeteer" takes on many forms as it represents the dark side of someone or something that has control over you. Reading it over (and over) again, it takes me back to when I fell into a spiral of crippling doubt and desperate escape from my own body and mind–if only it were anyone else's but mine, I'd say.
Tell me...who is your puppeteer?