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| Every doll has a story behind... |
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Want to try to make one or see what other people came up with?! Every story will participate in The Doll Palace ratings. Good stories will be awarded with Dollpoints.
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All created stories have to follow . We do not allow any sexually related material. The Doll Palace will be enforcing this rule and completely blocking access to the accounts that disregard our policy and create sexually oriented stories.
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Hi, my name is Aeroo
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 | Half of a Whole. (poem) |
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 5 with 4 vote(s)
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| Created: 2009-01-19 15:00:56 |
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Half of a whole is one whole half,
Half of a punch is two whole slaps.
First there was one, then there was two,
Then there was me, then there was you.
Spun of feathers, blood, and dreams,
Stuffed with emotion to the bursting seams.
When your eyes first open and see your first sight,
It's almost as though I could soar and take flight.
You glance about, lay eyes on your world.
Your slender wings slowly unfurl.
My wondrous creation, my wonderful toy,
I'll give your so much for you to enjoy.
I'll wrap you in silk, and sell you to Life,
Or perhaps I'll protect you, keep you here from the strife.
---
You're half of a whole, but not a whole half.
Your body is empty, withered, and black.
Gossamer ribbons twine in your hair,
You're still not content to remain as theirs.
You want to break free from the life I gave you.
You want to be yours, and be mine too.
The wings are broken, you crouch down in doubt.
Eyes full of lost hope, you lose every bout.
My child, my lovely, don't you dare cry.
You're the apple of my eye.
Don't you love being locked up inside,
Being kept safe, a beautiful prize,
That no one will ever win?
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It's my own selfish mind, that locks you away.
I swear to keep you safe for today.
But today passes, as does tomorrow,
The hours slide by, all time I borrow.
You wither away, lost in my brain.
One little piece of brilliance gone.
Perhaps someday, long after I've died.
The tower that has always kept you inside.
Will crumble, and set you free,
So you can kneel at my grave and weep.
You're nothing but dust,
Cold dirty must,
Just one more toy that baby broke.
Plot, chara, settings no more.
All locked away behind the doors
Of death and fascination.
END.
AN: ... I have no idea where this came from. I just wrote a line, then another line, then another. I think my muse Horatio is trying to guilt me into writing more.
I would guess that the poem is supposed to be about a forgotten idea that the author never shared or acted on, but please, draw your own conclusions. ^_^
--Aeroo |
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