We're all puppets in this game of life
Moving when the man upstairs tells us to
Only crying when he tugs on our heart strings
And chuckling when he tickles our feet
What kind of player will you be?
A puppet following in circles
Or the lone drummer marching to his own beat
Follow the path
Or go off and make your own
A life-long ponderance
Even God himself let's out a little giggle
As we struggle and stumble our way
To an amazing feat
Puppets or Puppeteers is no longer the question
Were all involuntary puppets following our masters
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It's an interesting thought... I hope I can march to my own beat. I love the first stanza! And I wish I could say more about what this poem makes me think, but I've written erased and rewritten erased this comment so many times. I just don't think that my thoughts will ever be words. But you great poem is great and it really has got me thinking!