Author Information
Son of Papyrus
Blank as a fresh snowfall
quietly begging to become exploration
of meaning and fragile hope
torn away from this crooked spine
that keeps me bound to my brethren.
I'll cut you deep and bleeding
yet my destruction remains unseen
your wounds deemed as blighted
malingering better used in a time
when virility isnt measured by shame tolerance.
Contorted into shapes magical
taking to the skies in the briefest
of innocent moments of gaiety
a mocking reminder to the earthbound
whose queries of poetry are never realized
though scribbled stanzas reside
tattooed on their backs forever.
The perpetrator of an inferno of love
edges curling and vanishing into ash
giving vagabonds one more day
to waste their tired lives away
as a member of the forgotten
in the annals of history through which
they trawled when they had a chance
before time made them its serfs.
