The Doll Effect



Life’s melody embraced her fingers,

and read to her it’s tragedies by musical notes;

she listened to the voice of the violin,

and fell in love over and over again.


The only symphony that played,

was all the fingers upon her hands,

each graceful touch demanded

the strings to echo death’s inevitable



If it were to rob her of this life,

then may it hear the pain she bleeds;

forcing even death to dance as if no

end was un-foreseen.


She played, and played,

composing rythms from the heart,

designing melodies from dreams,

and sharing life’s concerto part by part.


Even time stood still,

and age had no bearing;

so death fashioned her soon,

but only pure love she was truly wearing.


No beautiful blonde flowing hair,

nor a prince, castle, or steeds;

just solitude, and life’s language,

all crowded and dressed to be.


To play and play until those fingers

refuse to chase each and every note her

heart reads; lest death should change it’s

mind, it is this place and time, she will

only feel free.


The lights turn off,

the curtains close,

she feels her one last note

and one last moment owned.


All becomes dark,

but she has played her greatest show;

upon her face, a tear turns to a Rose,

and she will forever remain in her most gifted pose.



9 responses to “The Doll Effect

  1. I had an interesting vision while reading your piece – the concentration camps – some had musicians and these musicians would play their instruments. They played for their life – to live one more day. For others, it was the last moment of true beauty experienced before death.

    Our lives are like a symphony – the overture, the coda at the end and the many movements in the middle. What is interesting about being a musician is there is no music to be played unless the musician actually plays their instrument. We must play our instrument before the curtain closes – because, to be honest, there is no encore.

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