Puppet

The hooks cut into his flesh
Suspending him among the bodies of so many others
White flashes of flame that consume his weak wooden body
He is nothing without those hands guiding him
He is nothing at all

Within the factory there are a million like him
They are all so different, yet all yearning for the same purpose
After all, a puppet longs to fit in with the crowd

So the hands of the mighty guide this little puppet
He is different than the rest, yet just the same
A matyr or a saviour, is that what he is?
No, just a puppet controlled by the hands of a higher power

At the end of the day, the factory stops working
Leaving the little wooden faces to sleep
The higher power stops and admires his creations today
He shuts the door behind him and returns to his own little world
That of a God and that of a human