I am a marionette
a figure made of wood.
A puppet with heart and soul
That knows much more than it should.
The children come and play with me,
tugging on my strings.
I dance for them, I play for them
though naught for me it brings.
Then someone calls, and off they run,
throwing me into the dust
I have done for them what I must for them
Now if I must rot, then I must.
I am a marionette
a person carved of a tree
with a heart too big, a soul too deep
but what more could I ever be?
Again they come, the children to play,
To them I must succumb.
I know they will dance me and play me and throw me,
but what more could I want?
With every throw into the dust
My wood begins to chip away
The children will notice soon enough
And soon will have another friend with which to play.
I am a marionette
with a heart where there should be wood.
The heart binds me and rots me and tells me that
being thrown into the dust is good.
