Zwinkele

Graveyard Of Paper

Graveyard of paper

Airplanes lay fallen

Upon the cold floor

 

Dreams of flight - Of flying

Far above the low classroom’s ceiling

Still hang in the air

 

They still remember

That unique thrill

Of soaring across the sky

 

Of being elevated

Above the chaos

Of their world

 

Of floating gracefully

On air conditioner updrafts

Or ceiling fan twisters

 

But such fantasies are gone now

Killed by a broken wing

Or possible one wrong fold

 

Be it by the cruel paperclip

The deadly scissors

That ill-fated nosedive

 

They all fell

One by one

To the ground

 

And there they lay

Ignored by all

Except the crushing soles of rubber shoes

 

Nobody cares

To take a chance

And fly them again