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The Enchanted Doll House

I don’t think you believe me
When so somberly I say,
“The world is my dollhouse
And I’ve only come to play.”

But I tiptoe across the floorboards
And I sneak a glance
Hoping that while I was cowering in the corner
The world hadn’t turned its back

I throw open the lid of the trunk
And rummage delicately inside
Finding new odds and ends
To add to the Collection
Delightful finds

I create new worlds every day in which to play
And tear them down each night when I’ve grown tired
And as I lay my head down, I say a prayer to no God
That in the morning the world will not have changed at all

I don’t think you care for me
When oh so merrily I sing,
“The world is my dollhouse
And isn’t it a lovely thing?”

I move the dolls about all day
They jump this way and fall that
And ask one another whether they jumped or fell
When in my eyes there’s really no difference at all
They play a wondrous tragicomedy upon a miniature stage of Life
When the curtain falls, I clap, sweep the stage, and put them carefully away
Tuck them all safe in a box with high black sides
And never open it or move them again
I eventually forget they ever were
Happy starts breed forgetful ends

I wonder whether they’re aware of my presence
As I’m unfurling their lives
Do they once and again look up to the sky
And have a vague feeling like an unwanted thought?

And I heard the more discerning ones singing,
Singing in the streets,
“When the whole world is about to go away,
You’ll want nothing in the world
Except for it to stay.”

I don’t think you’re really listening to me
Or understanding, when I say,
“The dollhouse is my world
And I’ve only come to play.”
*|Tale |*
*|Her |*
*|Escapes |*
*|Whispers |*
*|The Sais |*
*|Wishlist |*
*|Others |*
*|Music |*
*|Memories |*
Ripper.
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