The Puppet Game I Play

THE PUPPET GAME I PLAY When you are imbued with the uncanny ability Wherein you can see beyond the shout of hosanna To the dormant volcano Of agitation, smouldering "crucify him" Yet lurking within the inner recess of the well-wishers, A great gift you already have. When you can see through the veil of "there is no problem" Mouthed to you from them in your inner circles, To behold the unspoken maledictions against you, Seethingly seated in their outwardly bedecked sepulchre Called the hearts, A great gift you already have. When you are so gifted, All with these knowledge of the desperate animal called man, And you were me, A puppeteer you'd better become To play the puppetry. The Puppetry of the very ones Whose shout of hosanna is but a re-echoing sound of their malediction; Whose mouthing of "no problem" is but a heap of evil desires Deceptively interred in the sepulchre of their hearts. Against such, offer no sacrifice of sincerity, For a pearl counts but no sacrifice to a swine But play the puppet of them And bother not whereth comes the resource, For their evil but hidden desires have already hoisted them On a petard for the Puppetmaster's show.