Puppeteer

An eerie lullaby,
Playing its tinkering soft notes in the background,
A malicious puppeteer,
Creating its last play,
For all eyes to see.

The crowd forms,
Nerves wracking,
His brain running over the skit,
The life to ruin.

The curtain rises.

He hides himself in the dark,
The shadows shrouding his secrets,
Making no know,
The puppet he controls,
Is a life.

The whispering soft notes,
Falling from the piano,
“This is just the beginning, my lovlies,”
His voice is so thick,
So dark and heavy with something the audience has no care for.

The puppet dances across the stage,
The life it beholds,
So fragile and thin,
The strings must be strong,
Holding it to stand and create its distress.

They only applaud,
Laughing and squealing like pigs,
How foolish are they?
Watching the death of someone,
That's been created to be a puppet.

The horrific scenes,
Being played for this cruel division,
Was simply a diversion,
An easy kill,
If you must.

“This life is no longer,”
The soft words,
The tinkering notes,
Left in the cold silence,
The people watched,
Curious eyes watched the puppet,
Raise a knife,
To its measly throat.

A sad smile,
The ending of a life,
The tears that went unshed for so long,
The cascaded down the pale and ashen face,
Of this poor puppet.

The knife made a thin line,
A long and specific line,
The crimson liquid poured and spattered,
The body dropped,
The puppeteer left the strings fall.

With his beak open he dove for the applauding crowd,
Taking in their lives,
Sweeping them away.
He must need to feed his young.

This show was just for life,
The loss of life,
Oh, how sad,
Such a creature must be alive,
Must take the souls,
Just to survive.

This puppeteer is so cruel,
It holds so much evil.
“The final part,”
He muttered,
His young fed,
His belly satisfied.

The curtain falls now.