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Andrew Burke
12/9/2019

Puppet

Raise me up with a tug on my strings

You who have taken my life, my dreams

March me on through the hell you created

Toward everlasting sleep, long awaited

Tip your wrist and watch me bow down

An empty gesture, but rest, for now….

As I kneel as if to pray

Speak to me, through the darkness say:

“Choose a God you think is there

Ask if He truly cares

If He answers you, you may go free

If He doesn't, you belong to me….”

Raise me up as I await my answer

From inside, the faintest whisper:

“Heavy is the heart that harbors hate

Heavier, the hand that holds it's fate

Yet fears the feel of hand on flesh

Afraid, it seeks its own death….”

My heart within my hand I've held

Cast therefrom, these strings of hell

Upon which myself I've played

The saddest song a soul can play

A song of hurt, of pain, of worry

I am the puppet of self-inflicted purgatory….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

See all poetry for Andrew Burke #W100432