The piece of paper,
It is still new.
Both sides are blank,
Just pure white.
The paper is no longer blank,
Things starting to appear on it.
Lines forming into shape,
Colors making it more lively.
Blank paper no more,
But filled with art.
The art in the frame,
Better looking than others.
Place high above ground,
Higher than others.
Art no more,
But a masterpiece.
Then came a fire,
It is unstoppable.
The masterpiece is burning,
Turning into ash.
Master piece no more,
But ash disappearing into thin air.
As time pass by,
Things will change.
No matter how far.
There is always an end.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoetryLet each word speak to you, Let each word explain to you. Some will understand, Some will not. I hope that you all will enjoy. I apologize if I had made any mistakes in my poems.