Tourists

2022-01-20

We're all imposters
Imposing our wills on what we call life,
Dragging our lifeless wooden bodies from street to street
Until we find hope that grounds us.

Occasionally the threads our puppetmasters hold over us entangle and interweave
Into a jumbled mess we call love.
When they cut the strings that tie us together
We each hold broken threads wondering
Why they broke.