Strings, Strings, More Strings

I see a thousand strings.

Strings that aren't really there,

But strings that I feel. 

Strings that are so thin,
Delicate. Breakable.

One's dignity shattered like the broken mirror within

I yank a thousand strings.

Strings conceived by fears, insecurities.
Empty eyes that stare into nothing.
Nothing... 

Nothing? 
Yeah, I guess nothing...
Nothing.

A thousand strings through omnipotence.
Me? No, no, by her

They extend into the heavens
Ladder to something greater

If it's even there...
But for now, it controls the worst of me

A thousand strings

Only revealed by light's reflection

I wobble, I tumble

I'm yanked back up.
Am I done? No.

Can I be done? No.

Strings that guide me to movements
Perhaps even encouragements. 
But still.
Omnipotence controls a thousand strings.

A thousand strings.
A million strings.
A billion strings.

I am a puppet.

Snip. Snip.

I am still a puppet. 

Reviews

[Aaron]

"Nothing...
Nothing?
Yeah, I guess nothing...
Nothing."
I loved that. I normally read poems out loud (weird I know.) and that just sounded perfect

"Snip. Snip.
I am still a puppet"
That's a great ending.

This was a very good read. Thank you for sharing.

[Kelsey]

Wow. That's the first word that came to my mind. I didn't truly understand this until the further I got into the poem, that being one thing of many that I really enjoyed about it. I love that the ending ties it together and leaves the reader knowing what was meant of the piece. This is beautifully written, and a lovely take on the idea.

[Jodie Ng]

thank you so much, that really means a lot to me :) i'm glad you enjoyed it

[Caradoc]

Intriguing to say the least.

I do like the repetition within this poem and the almost...vacant state I sense from the narrator. Controlled by the strings, they are powerless to do anything but what they are commanded, forced, to enact. Yet even though they try to sever those ties and escape, no matter what they do, they are still trapped.

A most interesting glimpse into one of life's greatest questions. Is free will something which we actually possess? Or is there some grand puppeteer guiding and directing our lives for some unknowable purpose, or worse, sick amusement?

Of course the facet like quality of any piece of art also makes it possible that this is cry from someone who feels trapped by their life. A young person most likely, forced to carry out the desires of another, perhaps a parent? It's something often seen depicted in film and other forms of fiction. They do not wish to follow the life prescribed by their "master".

Elegant and intriguing.

Well done, poet.

-Caradoc

[Jodie Ng]

thank you for the review :)