The Puppets

They walked not by will, but by command,
Heads low, hearts muted by a hum of static.
The headset fed them dreams not theirs,
While the one without it, unmasked, untouched
Watched in silence as they danced to his rhythm.
He never logged in, never believed
Yet owned every step they took.
And so they moved, thinking it was freedom.
But they were never the dancers, only the strings.