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And, Shoot
June 13, 2010
Cool blades of a scissor are slicing the paper,
The paper whom I love so dear
This paper rests over the rock
Stifling invisible tears
The rock could crush the scissor,
bring it to dust,
without a second thought.
How lonely could it get,
Without seeking revenge,
Seeking only to be distraught?
This foolish game,
This child’s play,
Seems nothing far too grave.
This silly place
Will never change
The rock will stand alone.
© Olivia E., Alto, MI
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