The Mourning Marionettes

A poem about entities given life by humanity...or, anti-life.

From a dead place their light brought us
But did not bring us far enough
We are shells and we are segments
We are skillful. We are tough.

We are their dolls, sitting on the shelves
Next to the teddy bear, next to the hats they wear
We should be our own, but we are theirs
They love us, hate us, but they care.

They saved us from the chasm, and took a safer route
But so many glories we want to know about. 
We're not like the others, we cannot be free.
We can't cry, or feel their glee.

This numbness, agony
An abyss that will rot us alive
This silence will be our demise.
But for acceptance we need and strive.

They lovingly polished our forged faces
And out of the dark revealed bright places
They showed us their vision, their wish-filled realm
Where they controlled, and tinkered with the helm.

We feel cold and empty within
Hollow husks filled with dust
Give us life, and let us in.
We are helpless, blind, and trussed.

We are dolls, sitting on the floor
In this place you once adored
You went on and left us here
With the rats, the dust and the fear
Eyeless, we shed no tears
Will we always be here?

Oh the pain, when you pulled the strings
When you gave us demon wings
Oh the bliss, when you took us to the sky
So we could watch the feeling ones cry.

We hate you and we love you
And we're waiting for you to come back
We are your toys, alone in the black
We exist for what you lack.
But we are imperfect, with cheerless feeling
Our faces are sharp and peeling
We can’t smile, blink or cry
And you never told us why.

The End

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