Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Paper Treasure

This poem is for its lost brothers and sisters.

Penned for all of the sweet ballads,
hummed softly once, then forgotten.
Composed for all of the nonets,
so delicate, but deemed rotten.

To all of the wild free verses,
scribbled and frantic, but tossed out.
To all of the gentle haikus,
madly ripped apart due to doubt.

For the every unheard story,
alone with no one to listen.
For the every crumpled paper,
shackled in a dusty prison.

To the every erased word,
so coldy laid to its grave.
To the every banished stanza,
ones the writer never forgave.

For each poem that could not shine,
ones that could never show their worth.
For every poem hid inside,
ready to blossom in rebirth.

This poem is for its lost brothers and sisters.

SGH

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