The Regulators Of Our Strings Don't Care Poem by Mark Heathcote

I was a ghost a stone.
There are puppets on strings in all of us.
Puppet labs with a human shield
With manned towers pointing guns at us
Geppetto is a kindly father but his child is unfeeling.
But he is too weak to take back control.
So hurtful lies go unchallenged.
By the guiltless few who want it all
The regulators of our strings don't care.
They unwittingly pull the strings.
And tell you where you belong.
And pluck out your eyes and tongue.
And tell you, there's no new horizon in your skies.
And this is where you all belong.