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The Doll
Listless eyes watch
behind the grim grin
of porcelain.
A single crack
framed like a tear
where limpid strands
begin to shed out.
Mouth eaten dresses
such tattered cloth
once made of fine
silken length.
Little beads of glass
caked in crusted dust
a smile painted
appears twisted agony.
Where there might have
been beauty once
grown over in cobwebs.
A silent plea
for a lover once given
not cast aside
a pain she tries to hide.
10:15 AM - 8/19/2007 -
Untitled Comment
That is a very beautiful poem Silver Wind. Keep up the great job!
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