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Printed from http://www.Writing.Com/view/1312554
Rated: E · Poetry · Cultural · #1312554
ain't that the way it always is?
The last to know

She played me like a puppet
suspended on a string.
I dangled from her fingers
and never saw a thing.
Bedazzled by a power
to big to understand,
I was but just another
she held within her hand.
Each day was like the other
as I hung there in place,
not knowing that she waited
to slap me in the face.
She played me like a puppet
suspended on a string.
I dangled from her fingers
and never saw a thing.
I guess the "age-old" adage
that we have heard is so,
for I was just another
who was the last to know.

7/6
© Copyright 2007 James A. Osteen Jr. (UN: poetman at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
James A. Osteen Jr. has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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Printed from http://www.Writing.Com/view/1312554