Porcelain
Author's Notes: This is, in my opinion, much better than my other poem, Steel. R&R please. I don't own Escaflowne or any of its characters, so don't sue me.
Delicate hands like silk
Slender, elegant fingers
Of a Lady
Waves of ash-blond hair
Soft lilac eyes
Of a child
A graceful young woman
A porcelain doll
Sits before you
A gentle, sweet girl,
You think
You think
But it is not true.
Looks deceive the mortal eye
None can see through
The clever disguise
That masks this murderer,
This killer
That once was so cruel.
She seems normal,
But is she?
When she's alone,
She quietly sobs
And falls into a nightmare-like state
For the demon whose body was stolen from
Claws at her mind
Night and day
Longs for revenge
On this silly child
Who has dared to steal his life
To claim his body as her own,
To weaken his strength
To reduce his soul
To nothing more than a memory
And yet,
It is that mere memory
That plagues her
That shatters her from inside
The poor porcelain doll.
