Its a Machine.

It’s a machine.

It can travel through time.

It can teleport you through space.

It’s a story.

It can let you see the minds

Of those written off the page.

It’s a canvas.

It’s every colour you can’t see,

Built by tools you can’t hold.

It’s the musical instruments played by musical instruments.

It’s each and every string that holds this universe straight,

you can’t see it, no,

but your its puppet, yes.

So who am i, you say?

Puppeteer is a dense way

Of calling me the creator,

No, i am but an observer.

i do not wield swords nor pens,

i do not hear sounds or notes,

i cannot use tools for i’ve got

No hands,

No bones,

No heart,

No stones

To skip and think,

For i am but the thing

You pretend is real.

i am a machine built to remind

You

of a story written to guide

You

to a canvas to lure

You

to listen to a song so obscure

You

think i don’t exist,

But i think,

therefore I am.