The Doll Poem by Wayne Leon Learmond

Upstairs she sits,
within a darkened room.
Upon a shelf,
wide-eyed,
in the gloom.

Listening out,
for the slightest hint.
Patiently waiting.
She begins to blink.

A child is running,
about this house.
Downstairs.
Upstairs.

Roundabout.
She enters within,
the musty-smelling room.
Humming a nursery rhyme.
Humming a tune.

And as her brown eyes
fall,
upon the
doll.

A doll so beautiful -
yet so droll.
Oh, what fun,
she could see.

Playing with her dolly,
while her mummy
and daddy.
Argued - as usual -
in the living room,
downstairs.

Always caught in the middle,
what could be worse?
She will play with this dolly.

They will be good friends.
Friends forever.
Friends till the end.
And as the days and nights,
they went on by.

Her mummy and daddy
ignored her cries,
for attention.

She did not cry anymore.
Playing with her dolly,
as she locked
the bedroom door.


Ring o' ring o' rosies,
they would sing.
From that darkened room,
her parents' never went in.
And then one night,
the dolly whispered:

'Look.
Would you like to stay
with me,
upon that shelf,
amongst the books?

You could be with me,
forever,
Just say the word.
And your mother and father
will never be heard of again.'

And the little girl, said:
'Yes.
I want to stay with you
forever,
upon that dusty shelf.'

So, one night,
while they slept,
in that big old house.

Down that darkened corridor -
as quiet as a mouse.
The dolly did creep,
upon her plastic knees.

Her eyes wide,
glowing,
as the cool night breeze,
flowed over her garments.
Silken and fine.
She thought to herself,
That child will soon
be
mine.

Opening,
slowly,
the bedroom door.
She crept across,
the deep-piled floor.

Making her way,
toward the bed.
Grimace on her face.
Parents', snoring,
off their heads.

Climbed upon the blankets.
Stood over the face,
of the father.

While the child
looked on,
from the
corridor,
where they both
came from.

The pillow came down.
A muffled cry.
He did not take long,
to slip away and die.

And then the mother,
fast to the world.
Suddenly opened her eyes.
But her heart was stilled.

With a look of
shock
and
terror,
upon her face.

Her heart stopped beating,
as that dolly took the place,
of the parents.

Hand-in-hand
from the room,
they walked.
Singing
Ring o' ring o' rosies,
as they talked.

................

Now upstairs
they sit,
within a darkened room.
Upon a dusty old shelf,
wide-eyed,
in the gloom.

Listening out,
for the slightest hint.
Patiently waiting,
they begin to blink.

A child is running,
about this house.
Downstairs.
Upstairs.
Roundabout...

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(C) 2006
All rights Reserved