I am your poet puppet
Writing along to the strings you pull.
The pen dances boisterously with my desirous heart
I have a bed waiting for me at the end of this dusty road
A pillow stuffed with dreams and promises that lies in the mist of smoke and foggy nights
Hope conquers as the realization washes over this truism….
Time tells my story and I will leave no words unsaid and no string unstrung before the dirt is thrown on top of me