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Open Poetry #49

The Mannequin

ponderthepoetorrsx
Member

since 2011-06-25

Posts 284
U.S , Ca

0 posted 2014-05-21 05:56 PM

I am the Mannequin,
Molded from graveyard dirt
By a sadistic harlequin.

I am the Mannequin,
Featureless face in anguished hurt,
Because of a sadistic harlequin.

I am the Mannequin,
Given no voice to call my own,
But only things that squirm within my head,
Given all, by a sadistic harlequin

I am the Mannequin,
Made from a thousand different connoisseurs,
And from the dirt of a pauper's grave.
A pleasing sight am I,
Cold to the touch.

I am that corpse interred
Within this coffin of flesh and bone,
Given a face to mask my face,

Oh harlequin or not just smile,
How I hate smiles,
But just dress me up,
And I can be anyone.

Richard

Redstart
Senior Member

since 2014-05-16

Posts 535

1 posted 2014-05-22 06:07 AM

'Anguished' is certainly the word to draw from this melancholy poem. I've read it enough times to realise that it fascinates me. I'm left hoping that it is drawn from imagination rather than personal experience.

ponderthepoetorrsx
Member

since 2011-06-25

Posts 284
U.S , Ca

2 posted 2014-05-22 11:27 AM

A little of both

Richard

wordancer
Senior Member

since 2000-07-30

Posts 809
VA

3 posted 2014-05-22 04:16 PM

hard imitation of self ... the cold outer (unmoving) shell we build around ourselves...for protection? Humm, you got me muddling around in my mind. Thanks!

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