Porcelain Company

Aging dollmaker leaves behind his sorrow, sealed in his final creation.

He was a dollmaker once renowned,

now slowed by years and silence deep;

the halls lay empty, laughter gone,

with creaking floors his grief to keep.

His tools lay sleeping in their drawers,

yet something stirred within his mind;

for hearts that ache behind closed doors

will seek whatever they can find.

He returned to craft and tender care,

to carve a face both soft and bright,

a child with painted, watchful stare,

a flicker caught from dying light.

He brushed its hair with trembling grace,

smoothed every seam, each gentle line;

and in that still, unbreathing face

found comfort he could not define.

Upon the shelf the doll was placed,

a quiet guard of hopes once grand;

while in his chair he traced and traced

old dreams like patterns in his hands.

The lamplight hummed its final tune,

the rocking slowed beneath the moon.

With sigh so small, so quiet, blessed,

the craftsman sank to final rest.

By dawn no pulse remained to keep

his body from its peaceful sleep.

The doll stayed seated, bright and still

a promise fate refused to fill.

For love, when sealed in porcelain skin,

cannot pursue the soul within.

And there the doll, with painted eyes,

keeps watch beneath unchanging skies

the solitude he once could not escape

now rested in porcelain hands.