The Speechless Marionette

With robotic sun,
With plastic and wooden
Movements.
Tied up with the love of strings.
Just a simple figurine,
Dancing whichever way my strummer pleases.
A doll, to those who have never been held up by similar ties.
A darling fantoccini to those who have never been moved by
My ventriloquist.
Down, up, side, back, side.
Beautiful strides you make.
A moving manikin.
Free, it seems.
To him, I can not speak.
I can not speak my love to him.
A dummy I would seem,
if I tried to open my moppet mouth.
How proud I am to be seen,
performing his work.
He made me. He is the only one to control me.
Destroy me.
This he has done.
Many times over has thought of giving me away.
Burning me, and has tossed me aside.
Yet he always seems to remember the speechless marionette.
Saving me for the most glorious shows.
Showing me off to the crowd.
It is pitiful how I feel,
Letting him toy with me.
Then forget me.
Until he is bored once again.
It is then I become his dancer.
His little hand operated ballerina.
I have no choice but to allow it.
If I did disapprove, these hinges binding my mouth
Are once again controlled by him, the man.
The master.
The man that I wait for anxiously.
Knowing that one day he will not retrieve me from the dust shelf.
He will leave me with his other, once beautiful, discards.
Nothing but a discard.
For now, he will be my commander.
I will love his orders and stay his speechless marionette.
For that is the only way he loves me.