Strings of Control
A woman’s hand, so soft, yet strong,
Pulls the strings, where he belongs.
A puppet moves, his will not free,
Bound by threads she cannot see.
He dances, sways, at her command,
A fragile figure, held in hand.
Yet in his eyes, a silent plea,
To cut the strings and let him be.
But freedom lies in tangled thread,
A choice to break, or stay instead.
For though she pulls, he holds the key,
To snip the ties and claim his plea.
Her hand so steady, the strings so tight,
He moves in shadow, bound by her might.
A gentle pull, a subtle sway,
He follows her lead, come what may.
His steps are hers, his voice is still,
Shaped and steered by her quiet will.
Yet in the dance, a story unfolds,
Of power unseen, and secrets untold.
No scissors here, no ties to sever,
The puppet and hand entwined forever.
A silent bond, a wordless thread,
Where freedom bows, and control is fed.
About the Creator
♿ V+ Marie381Uk
Poetry has lived in me since childhood.
Ink spills the feelings words fear to say.
My poems heal, some haunt, all are pieces of me.
Stay and read please. Like&follow me. If my poetry touches your ♥️ maybe leave a small tip
#Marie381UkWrites
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