poem

on the paper was a poem.

(not me redoing this book lmao)

[2021]

a rolled up piece of paper falls from a pocket of denim
passing through streets full of people
bustling, pushing, pulsing with the energy of the common
the scroll makes its way with the flow like the sea
and then tiny fingers grasp the edges, and young, childlike eyes read its song
the offering of words does not seem to satisfy, however
and the scroll is dropped again.
and the scroll moves on.

on the paper's next endeavor it meets large hands and a cold glare
and once again is discarded in the streets of the city
the night gets dark and chilly and yet, the paper rolls on
through alleyways of stray cats and shadows
under cars and over cracks in the old asphalt
the paper, desperate to share its cantata, becomes attracted to a girl.

she must have lost her way in these dark back streets
and so the paper sought to offer some comfort in the cold and dusky night
delicate, soft, trembling fingers unraveled the scroll once more
a small smile arose on her face
on the paper was
a poem.

she pocketed the paper
and made her way home to warmth.