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Poem

He looked out at those who had gathered before his small stage. Amidst this noisy, crowded market, full of bright cloths, and fragrant foods, they were his audience. They stood, or sat in the dusty market place, surrounded, and at times jostled by merchants, browsers, pack mules, or horse drawn drays. He realised that they did not understand the intricacies of his art, and they could be easily distracted, but they had chosen his stage expecting him to provide them with something. They did not know what that was, not until they saw it. So it was his job to show them; to fulfil those unknown desires. His hungry eyes surveyed them. His thirsty mind trying to guess what it would take to hold them here, in front of his little stage? He needed a way to entertain this audience enough that they would want to drop their precious coins, into his empty purse?
     He looked down through the top of the stage. His eyes followed the strings from his controlling hands, to the head, arms and legs, of the puppet that would dance his dance, and sing his tune. If his puppet pleased him, and those gathered before it, today would be assured.
     He drew back the curtain.

As the curtain slowly opens
and light illuminates the stage
the puppet holds his pose
until he’s won the audience’s gaze.

The message comes down from his Master.
He raises his dagger on cue.
But the audience don’t gasp, or even mutter
as he runs a second puppet through.

Instead they turn to depart
leaving his Master’s purse empty. 
Directions come quickly, lacking in art
demanding the Puppet dance up a frenzy.

So he jumps and twirls, as though he has wings.
Until he is caught, in a web of his own strings.

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