A poem on how Harry feels like a little doll, always listening to his 'masters'. A little bit sad too. I hope you like it or something.
Little Doll
Little doll, play your part.
That's what they all say.
Nobody cares about my bleeding heart.
Everyday, standing on display.
I'm tired of dancing to their tune.
But then they order me and what can I do?
Looking up at the beautiful moon,
But I'm forced not to admire the view.
Marching forward, it's time to fight.
Nobody hears my pleas for help.
Can't they sense my fright?
If I could I would run away with a yelp.
I hate this life of mine.
Having no control over my body.
If only I could just decline.
I'm losing touch of reality.
Are my hands really stained with blood?
Or is it yet another twisted dream.
Trudging through mud,
I just want to scream.
What happened to free will?
Am I doomed to be controlled forever?
Will my aspirations ever be fulfilled?
If only the ties that bind me could be severed.
But what can I do?
Rebellion is impossible with them in control.
My masters are to be eschewed.
At least for as long as they are whole.
But who will help me?
I have to protect them.
And because of them I'll never be free.
I feel so numb.
If you've seen the things I've had to do.
Would you understand that I had no choice?
Or would you be cruel,
And raise your voice.
I'm so tired of being their little doll.
Why can't they see I have emotions too?
I wish that they could just fall.
I wish that they'd just get their due.
I know that when my time is up,
When I'm no longer their useful little doll,
Lying dead in a hall.
Afterall, my purpose has been completed.
Why would I still be allowed to live?
You'll probably find me stuffed full of drugs,
Lying dead in a hall.
Afterall, my purpose has been completed.
Why would I still be allowed to live?