Pearly, iridescent, cascading tears
are trailing down porcelain doll faces,
baby blue eyes a-glisten with inanimate despair,
while twitching strings and jointed legs reveal
a swirling jig.
The feverish dance of today's plastic toys.
Sewn-in mouths that smile, and knees that bend;
submissive features strung along that give
the puppeteers control of slack bodies.
Stuffed, packed emptiness,
no room for a heart in the swallowed darkness
at the core.
Children's smiles and parent's grins,
clapping for the pain,
for the memories showed onstage;
applause for the pain.
No comprehension that they clap for plutocracy.
Let the rich be lucky and the poor be poor.
Let the show of shadows continue,
and the taut smiles haunt the stage.
Let their fingers work the magic,
and pull closed the curtain of faith.
Let the puppets dance and the audience grin,
and wish they had such wonderful lives
as the figures on stage.
No hurt, no feeling, no strings.
No regrets.
