The Broken Doll

Beware, dearest daughter,
 beware of the silent ones
 the beautiful ones
 for now, they are all but whispers
 tempered within the edifice of time
 Beware, dearest daughter
 for they are far less merciful than I
 Even in death, my spirit cries out to her
 weeping for the youth that was raped
 the innocence that was defiled
 her pale, child-like, porcelain face
 Now shattered into a thousand tiny fragments of lifeless beauty
 each reflecting its own horror
 I laugh at the mockery and irony of fate
 for she spares no ones as she dances hand in hand with time
 she taunts us with her invisible smile
 a smile which to me reflects only a masque
 a masque which my face no longer wear
 Beware, dearest daughter, beware of the silent ones
 beware, dearest daughter
 for they are far less merciful than I
 by: Satou 13