His hands are skilled
Mind focused
His fingers hold the strings like delicate spider webs
He turns their heads with his voice
Clouds their minds with his posters
He brings them to foreign soil
Sends them on their way
Lets bombs fall and bullets fly
He holds them in place
They fight and fight and fight
The strings are cut from his hands
But he has more
He reaches those his hands cannot
And they move under his voice, his command
The show is spectacular
People ooo and ahhh
Mothers shed tears for their sons
But he has them on his strings too
And they feel waves of pride for their “sacrifice”
People pay to see his show
He smiles as the money piles up
And continues his act
But even when the curtains are forced closed
The men whose strings were never cut
Live forever under them
Even when their fight is over
The strings carry behind them like dead weights
Forever bound to him
He follows them like a ghost
Invading their minds for years
Haunting them with their own memories
About the Creator
Brianna Frissora
Just a teenager trying to make their dreams of becoming an author come true. I'm a junior in high school and I can't wait to share my imagination with the world.
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