A Puppet On A String

I feel like a puppet, dancing all about;
tethered to a Master, guiding my path;
frustrated, disconnected; ready to shout;
is he the Master of Love; or wrath?

Although I don’t hear voices speaking to me;
many thoughts seem placed on my mind;
the being that I was; I no longer seem to be;
a part of my reality, has been left behind.

I’ve ceased seeking this world’s brass ring;
having proven my inability to procure;
I’m more like a proverbial puppet on a string;
and this life no longer has allure.

Are all of my thoughts, truly my own;
or, is destiny having his say;
is destiny preparing to lead me home;
or simply having his way?

My physical body is my puppet of choice;
a most temporary home, at best;
a place to house my thoughts and voice;
I’ve become my body’s guest.

I’m a created being of the puppet Master;
conscious energy is what I imbue;
destined to experience this world of disaster;
and so, my dear friend, are you.

In truth, we’re all nothing but consciousness;
puppets of the Master’s powers;
this kingdom is the world of godlessness;
but we are the Master’s flowers.

Monty 9/27/22. # 1,299