The Marionette’s Dirge

The Marionette’s Dirge

Wooden limbs that creak and groan,
Strings entwined with dust and bone,
Painted smile cracked and worn,
Eyes of glass where grief is torn.

Master pulls and I obey,
Dance until my joints decay,
Whispers carve through brittle air,
Bound to dance in deep despair.

Twist and turn, my brittle frame,
Cursed to dance in death’s cruel game,
No soul to sing, no heart to mourn,
Just fractured wood by sorrow worn.

Splintered feet on rotting floor,
Tiptoe past the cellar door,
Shadows stretch with crooked hands,
Guiding me through cursed lands.

Voice of ash and breath of clay,
Strings that weave through night and day,
Master laughs and pulls me tight,
Marionette in endless fright.

Cut my strings and let me fall,
Into silence, into thrall,
But the strings regrow like weeds,
Rooted deep where anguish breeds.

Twist and turn, my brittle frame,
Cursed to dance in death’s cruel game,
No soul to sing, no heart to mourn,
Just fractured wood by sorrow worn.

When Master sleeps, the strings unwind,
But I still dance, trapped in my mind,
Hollow echoes, steps that bleed,
A puppet cursed by fate and greed.