Work Text:
Rivers of misery flow through its heart,
keeping it from going barren.
How much longer must I let the animals graze,
only for them to feed upon its fields?
They say they do not rule the lands.
They say they only wish to see them at their finest.
But no one asks why they hold them so dear,
why they take away the wishes of the ruler.
The ruler is a puppet,
its strings strung tight enough to make it dance.
The puppet smiles, prancing around,
until the show decides it has had enough.
It holds the scissors to its freedom,
the blades sharp enough to sever every string.
But it bows to them,
too lost in the dance to be free.
Maybe one day they will wither.
Maybe one day the music will stop.
Maybe one day the strings will go slack,
and the puppet will find itself again.
But for now, the puppet dances,
frolicking through the forgotten fields.
It drinks from the rivers of misery
that its fertile heart weeps.