Papers Fly is a poem about the sensitive feeling after a tragedy of feigning hero’s words. This poem is evidently written during one of the writer’s down times.
A fragile survivor of a library’s great turmoil and fire,
All the papers of written dreams and a name burnt down,
A delicate rescue appeared along with letters and lyre,
Letting the breeze be warm till it sets at dawn.
Upon the published books were of a clever writer,
Setting roulette on play for what sort of game?
I wither, and I grin, the author became my weather,
Under my umbrella waiting for whose name?
Mischievous trial in the game of thrones,
Knights and damsels in equality,
Protecting precious crowns and stones,
It was hard to see the compatibility be a possibility.
Up to a new library full of books and files,
Seeking the answers to understand why?
Not realizing the time that flies,
Apt, I just lifted the weather to the sky.
The wounded knight was fully armored,
With dim sight of his eyes made me wary,
A rare hero to meet and poet I adored,
Being in triple jeopardy, I felt like a dopey.
Yet, as the roulette played by the knight,
Purposely and willing to turn and gamble,
Deep scars and wounds from his previous fight,
It’s a tough question if the knight’s ready and able.
In the end like those papers in the burnt library,
All the written were all at heart that remains,
Real meanings are lost not along the memory,
Words were not appreciated plain but stains, severely.