Puppet

My peregrination to your mind

The eternal strife to seek and find;

Leaves me masquerading 

Like a puppet without a soul,

Lifeless form, hanging from a pole -

Twisted and taut the strings;

A pull ever slightly will bring,

The Master’s failures to the fore - 

The blackness within and more.

It burns the brightest and then its gone,

Its scintillating existence denied; 

The universe won.

The mirror reflects a form without a face,

Once again a part of the arboreal race.