Details |
The Puppeteer Poem
We beat our drums to the sound of the bell
But we can not copy the sound
So we'll dance, and sing in celebration
For peace has finally come
With the fog cleared up
We can see the truth
Together we wait
For the islands' singing voice to sing again
When the bell tolls
The story will repeat again
Over and over again
As we sing till our voices reach the sky
Copyright © The Puppeteer | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
The Puppeteer Poem
Flowing across the page
Everything comes to me at once
The colors dance upon the paper
Like a performance on a stage
A dance of colors
Swirling in every direction
Jumping and turning
Just like a little dancer
I am voiceless
If I had words
Would they be even more beautiful?
More beautiful than my words without sound?
A question I have no answer to
So I just let the colors dance
Spinning and turning
They go round and round
It's such a colorful display
Colors flowing across the page
The colors dance upon the paper
The only one in the audience is me
Watching as it becomes alive
My eyes grow wide
It makes me want to sing a sweet symphony
Aiming for the stars
Had to chip away at stone
Looking at how far I've grown
Like a blooming garden
The sun shines the brightest
And the flowers will start dancing
Twirling in my finger
It sparks a tiny flame
Growing larger
And brighter
As they take their final bow
Copyright © The Puppeteer | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
The Puppeteer Poem
Locked up in a cage.
But the beasts are allowed to roam.
The lights are dimming and the darkness grows thick.
It is like a mirror on the wall.
Reflecting everything in which you desire but can never have.
Those who takes gets.
And those who gives loses.
The scales have broken.
And you sit alone.
Crying on your throne.
Copyright © The Puppeteer | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
The Puppeteer Poem
Flowing across the page.
Everything comes to me at once.
The colors dance upon the paper.
Like a performance on a stage.
The only one in the audience is me.
Observant and thinking about the next step.
I am voiceless.
So I let the dancers speak for me instead.
As a voice for the voiceless.
They understand my heart.
Colors flowing across the page.
The colors dance upon the paper.
The only one in the audience is me.
Watching as it becomes alive.
Copyright © The Puppeteer | Year Posted 2025
|