Puppets of time

Time is a puppeteer with glasses—

Round, squeaky clean, and gold rimmed.

The strings of yesterday and tomorrow

Are attached to my limbs.

He pulls at the strings and I nod.

He pulls at the strings and I clap.

The theatre before me comes to life

Breathing like an engine.

Is it a universe

For me to discover and bring smiles to?

Time is a puppeteer with glasses-

Round, squeaky clean, and gold rimmed.

The art of puppetry is lodged in the crevices

Of his wrinkled hands.

I entertain the living theatre-

Each seat tossing its view at me,

A static leather animal,

Breathing and laughing.

Like I entertain the people around me,

Nodding and clapping,

With the invisible strings attached to my limbs.

Time is a puppeteer with glasses-

Round, squeaky clean, and gold rimmed.

Aren't we all puppets

Of the old puppeteer?