Saturday, August 6, 2016

Poor human being

He plays to be an angel,
and thinks he really is,
but he is just a little puppet,
slave and full of bliss.
His happiness is light dust
flying in the wind;
a mirage in his poor mind
of tribal steam.
Nasty blows of hazing,
dressed up in peace,
under bright appearances,
he stings like a bee.
He works just for his swarm
According a main wish
the will of the thin strings
that move the puppet's swing.

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