Behind glass doors sits a porcelain doll
lovely and cunning in her pale mystique
Silk clothes hide the imperfections of her forming fires,
yet, her eyes betray no blemish
You cannot hold her for she is well-protected
by her own will or for her own good?
Guards rush to her side if she is moved
she stands, motionless, as when she first arrived
Neither dust nor hateful sunlight penetrate her fortress
nor can tiny creatures gnaw a way inside.
She is perfect
imperfect
flawless to the eye
But no one will ever know
for she stands against Time
behind glass doors.
