Strings tied to limbs
The marionettes cavort
People of eloquence
Controlled by their master
Held by the strings of their stories
In darkness plots thicken
The strings falling from the master’s hands
Leave time for puppets to converse

It’s funny how their stories blend
Amalgamate
Details of torture and enlightenment blending
The tied arms of the fallen rise
Bodies in attempt of heavenly dreams

The master’s hands twirl above the heads of the mortals
Their irises grow at the sight of the angry sky
They learn expeditions of heaven are not ones for the weary
And their stories of woe are no magic carpet