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P F Rutledge Nov 2014
A war is going on.
Yet no one notices.
There are soldiers everywhere.

Here a kid brings a gun to school.
There a girl offers her friend a drug.
They are soldiers.

Here a friend sways the kid with the gun.
There the sister brings the friend from the drug.
They are soldiers.

The war continues.
Some see the puppets but not the puppeteer.
Some see the wound but not the weapon.

A war is going on.
And I'll be getting those,
Who hear the horn of heaven.
RW Dennen Sep 2014
Candleabra's flickering flames
cast a shimmering dancing
shadow of me,
upon my golden coffer overhead,
brought about by a sudden gust
of window-wind... God's finger-breeze...

Master airy-finger puppeteer
you are
dance the leaves
about my Autumn yard...

Push and stir
soft light newly blanketed wintry snow
on lifting eddies,
causing flying fancy, barnyard dancer's dos-a-dos
among infinitesimal,
and featherweight
delicately frozen
crystal-looking flakes...

Push tiny tango waves
upon reflected sparkling silvery lakes
that crest s l i d e then fall
And spectator trees
that enciricle about the watery ballroom-lake
surface-floor,
then with airy fingertips
clap, clap together
the loudly whispering and rustling leaves
that applaud
the watery dancing waves below...

And with windy fingertips
sail white billowing cotton like
vapor-sails
across an unplowable
oceanless
spatial blue...

Glad God
You mostly are
puppeteer of every star
Dance sundries of objects
on your play-ball planet
and puppet-likened stage
And let me laugh
in zestful rage
about danceable things
that can be danced,
that can be danced
on windy-finger days...
MalisterMikey Sep 2014
The puppeteer is the fool,
delivering drugs like a mule,
unaware of his crime,
he will pay a price of time.

The puppeteer approaches his boss,
in a room with some moss.
A man with two tears tattooed on his face,
holds out the his gross overpay and hands him mace.

The Puppeteer walks with what he believes is just cheats,
not hearing the sound of foot beats.
to late to block,
he is clocked.

The puppeteer protects what is his,
the boy beats him without a single miss,
out comes his hero in a baseball cap,
threatening the boy he tries to leave the map.

The puppeteers pride is damaged,
and takes the bat hitting his atter leaving him in bandages.
paying off the right people the man with tear tattoo's
make all the charges become taboo.

The puppeteer reads the news,
the boy he attacked might be set a new,
sitting by the rail on valentines day,
his friend approaches with a blush like a bae.

The puppeteer hears the boy say love,
he pushes his into the wall not wanting to be his dove,
though secretly he feels different,
and his hero can tell and kisses him not ashamed he is indifferent.

The puppeteer panics he is set a miss
for he never expected to receive a kiss,
he shoves him off and yells queer,
his heart is set with fear.

The puppeteer sees him sit down next to him,
his girlfriend near he won't mention it  Kim,
looking for justice an older brother show up,
though he is ignored as his opponent sips from a cup.

The puppeteer hears a shot be fired,
he realises he is deaths desire,
when all went black,
his eyes open to see the gunman be pushed a back.

The puppeteer smiles for he has won,
till his hand touched someone,
looking to the side their lies the hero,
and the puppeteers sanity hits zero.

Complete our dream that is his last call,
before the hero's eyes will fall.
an unmarked grave is mentioned through my rhyme,
nothing can heal the heart not even time.

One goal is set in mind,
and he will accomplish it in do time,
to become an artist of the written word,
only then can the puppeteer become a bird.

The puppeteer lives no more,
for now he closes the past's door.
This is actually based on a real event in my lifetime and the reason I started writing

— The End —