Sheet of Paper
And I find myself
looking down on you
again from my
pinnacle of humanity.
Poor page.
You will never hold words
that send men to fight and die.
You will never hold words
that tear a family apart.
You will never hold words
that turn a once loved smile to ash.
You will never hold words
of punishment and loss.
You will never hold words
that boil the blood
and burn the heart.
Poor page.
You are mine for a poem.
Your faint inked lines
bear no greater burden than that.
Poor page.