May/June 2026
typed in a regular, Times New Roman
12-point font. It stares at me
from the sheet of paper.
I feel it throb,
the letters rhythmically beat,
like gongs drumming
the arrival of armed troops
for war,
or a carcass
which was a living body two years ago.
It was told its lifespan, and May/June 2026
seemed so far away then.
My head hurts.
The hour ends and blue blood
stains the page.
I close the papers,
sticking the coffin into its stapled folds.
No one will remember where it is buried,
what happened in its lives save a few memories,
why it was abandoned on a Monday morning
behind a 12-point font.
Where it came from, where it went after...
who was robed in the white shrouds:
the test-taker or the paper?
-
Author:
PennedAI (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 1st, 2026 04:02
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Friendship
Offline)
Comments2
So nicely metaphored (sic) this poem speaks in paper images of real atrocities blood in ink and the coolness of white paper where a folder is a coffin. So well conceived it must be a fave
Well written. Your poem reflects on the inevitable decline of something once vibrant (the paper, the test-taker) and contemplates the lack of remembrance and significance attributed to these experiences.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.