In a land where gods and mortals tread,
A puppet’s heart, with strings of dread,
Born not of flesh, but crafted fine,
A creation, lost to the sands of time.

His eyes were bright, his purpose clear,
But hollow winds whispered near.
A vessel empty, a soul denied,
In shadows deep, he chose to hide.

Once promised light, now cast aside,
His fragile heart learned how to bide.
A tale of sorrow, anger sown,
He walked a path, yet all alone.

Beneath a mask of calm and grace,
Raged a storm he couldn’t face.
A wanderer in lands untold,
A heart once warm, now turned to cold.

But still he seeks, with burning quest,
A place to find eternal rest.
In every step, he carves his fate,
A puppet’s soul, to liberate.

And in the end, when truth is clear,
He’ll find the strength to quell his fear.
For though he’s made of wood and thread,
A human heart beats in his stead.