Monday, 13 February 2012

Though You're Here

Poor dear.
You've gone mad.
Sanity, you know
Seems too little a price
For what they've done to you.

I do believe they understood
When you asked,
Please, would they leave you,
Alone, to play with your
Pretty dolls, their hair in clumps
And their clothes tattered?
So why must they push you?

Nonetheless, they did. Now,
Your pretty dolls
Are shattered and lost,
And you're alone
But everyone is there.
Tell me, please, about
Your father.
Did you love him?
Did he love you?
Or the prince. Liar.

Still you're there, your hair,
A fan around you and your
Dress absorbing sunlight
As you float.

Poor dear, welcome.
Hold our hand, darling lost cause.
We'll love you.