The masters

By their names you shall know them,
pigeon fanciers, hunting enthusiasts,
millers of puppies and kittens.
They are not admirers of beauty,
observers, protectors and guardians,
they are not lovers,
they manipulate, twist to their desires
wing and flight, the set of the ears.
They warp, like the moulders of clay golems,
tie strings, rattle chains,
turn the clockwork keys,
but hearts still beat and break,
and bewilderment weeps
in those gentle eyes.