Wooden

Once a wooden dolly lay
Lifeless, yearning but to play
Her hands were sad
Her face worn dead
Her mouth yet painted on to say,

"I wish that I could smile like you
But doing so would kill me too.
So here I sit
Deep in the pit
Of used and ruined toys."

The maker gently raised an eye
Noticing by pseudo sigh
How lovely
The dolly be
As he brushed paint in her life.

A laugh she now could freely wear
And use her legs, arms, hands to spare
The maker's pride
Shone on her hide
As she danced without a care.

For never had she known such light,
Joyous freedom from the night
Toy-maker, doll,
Not two, now whole
But soon this poem recite.

The mender soon grew tired and young
Naivety grasped and begun
To pull his brush
To those more lush
And smiles he painted they.

The doll was left again once more
Strewn across the dusty floor
Forgotten, lost
Paying the cost
Of innocence and its chore.

This happened thrice, not once too many
Survive the love as well as any
The doll's long sought
Smile she'd fought
For melted through the floor.

Toy-maker, onto his next pride
Slaughtered trusting souls inside
Taking the heart
Ripping the start
Of hope twas born and died.

Facades of innocence he claimed
Yet silently he calls the names
Mender, maker
And toy-breaker
Of himself in dark.

From dolls he learns manipulation
Leading them from great creation
He paints a smile
And stays a while
But soon, like others, gone.

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