Monday, January 26, 2009

since I cannot sleep, a poem

Under The Looking Glass


Looking about with tears

She sees him frown

Poor porcelain doll, colors faded

Little lines within her skin

 

She always felt special

Under his care

Placement under glass dome

Lights shining on her

 

He sees over time

She is not the work of art

He once believed

Sighing he lifts the glass

 

This was his favorite

Upon inspection

The little lines showed

The colors were uneven

 

Sighing heavily

He lifted her gently

"sorry old girl" he muttered

carefully carried her away

 

Crying inside she felt unworthy

watching as he opened the box

where other broken, useless things lay

inside he put her

 

Wanting to cry out

"she didn't belong here"

examining her faults,

fear built inside

 

Sobbing, realization hit her core

she was unworthy

she wasn't special

she was just like the useless junk

 

Boxtop closed,

darkness surrounded her,

pain felt as never before

terror filled her

 

Wasn't long her prison moved,

jostling tossed her around,

nothing to grab on to for safety

she couldn't see

 

The porcelain figurine stilled,

grinding noise was heard,

light began to emit

momentary hope

 

Then the last thing she saw

was the crusher of the garbage truck

Slowly, unholy manner

bringing her closer

 

She let one last cry escape

felt herself fall

she returned to the dust she came from

Flaws gone

 

 

 

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