The Ways of Dolls

Cold, hard, plastic,

a comforting paradox.

As they sit in your arms,

warming the soul.

It becomes

a secret joy,

in a lonely heart.

Cradled, they watch,

painted eyes gazing.

Into the soul, they see,

they learn,

they heal.

A child with a toy,

daughter with her doll,

son always with his figure,

of a broken worshipped

hero.

They all come with tales,

we make them,

we learn them,

we are them.

Some of them

live their lives,

on shelves.

Others, lost in

sand boxes,

toy boxes,

or preserved in

packaging.

They're kept,

fixed,

replaced,

because many times

will the heart,

need to mend itself.

A child within oneself

seeking the familiar comfort

from a cold, hard, plastic form.

They change;

fragile, porcelain skin,

ceramic, plastic, cloth;

cloth clothes,

or painted plastic;

glass, or painted eyes;

long flowing hair,

or plastic once again.

In the end, you choose,

between hard plastic,

untouchable fragility,

or human like comfort.

They come

with many names,

brands,

types;

porcelain,

china,

play arts,

figurine,

doll.

Still it's all the

same,

in the end.

They will find a home

with us.

Taken from confinement

into welcoming arms.

Children seeking toys,

like stuffed animals,

or dolls,

that'll listen to recent troubles.

School, home, mischief,

if it can't run

it will listen.

Christmas,

Birthdays,

Easter,

we all have

so many opportunities,

to give a friend.

A gift received,

may it be familiar, fragile,

or cold,

is a cherished comfort

for a lonely heart untold.