Wednesday, 08 October 2008

• Clay Puppets

  Deepened gazes that seek the depths of our soul, We realize we are just mere puppets of mortality.

  Our lives hang on by a mere string only to be let go at anytime by the Grand Master so we plumate to the muddy ground.

  Poor little puppet, did you think your clay bodies would dance around forever, wearing your shiny shoes and your painted on smiles?

  We are only playing our part in this masquerade we call life.

  Dance Puppets, Dance, for your days are numbered. 

  One day your strings too will wear and break unexpectedly and your clay little bodies will fall breaking into a billion of pieces

  Only to wash away in the rain returning to the muddy ground in which you came from.

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