The Doll
I have no name
and been in this cardboard
box all my life, bound
with plastic ties
and alone in the dark.
Sometimes I hear voices
pass by. Other times
I hear people crying.
The world outside
of my thoughts
is a mystery to me.
I have this faint recollection
of being told
that one day I will
be let free, given a name
and be loved.
I know this cannot be
and yet I hope.
I think I've been placed
under a tree,
whatever that might be
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2024
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