Diary of a Marionette

Be the careful wind
that steers the naive sailboat,
the realist
that keeps the dreamer breathing.

I'll turn my head to you
like a sunflower in the sunstruck valley
worshiping the sun
till the fall of her petals.

I'll be the violin
and you'll be the bow.
I'll be the dusty keys
while you'll be the pianist.

I'll let you fiddle
with the colored wires,
trusting you'll know
which ones to slash.

I'll let you command my strings,
hoping your intents
are only to bring forth
thunderous applause.