The Play
Why are you there?
Living in my mind’s eye?
Your touch is Heaven and Hell at the same moment
Your voice is the whisper of Death.
I am a puppet wanting a heart.
You are the puppeteer.
You make me dance.
I believe I am free.
Then the play is over and you put me in my box.
Cold and empty and dead.
–by Elisabeth Connelley
Purple Profundity 