The paper is crumpled. I know not why. Should I now break down and cry?
It’s been abused. I know it’s true. A fate like ours, like you and me.
It’s sits beyond, just out of reach. I ponder what it has to teach.
There’s more I know than I can see. I guess at what’s hiding there from me.
Silent, steady, its palette waits; the colors it anticipates.
Green for grass, yellow for flowers, and grey for the mountain that beyond sight towers.
If wings it had would it fly away? Then come again another day?
It must not know just where it fell… in the very pit of hell.
If eyes it had what would it see? If ears and mouth would it talk to me?
Crushed it is, and broken too, but still it speaks to me, and to you.
People who have been damaged, thrown away, marginalized and traumatized are more capable of apprehending the abuses that have affected them then those who have not been so affected. So many people crying, and most don’t know they are doing it. I’m glad you are listening.
Steve, In Solidarity – Happy Holiday!
Steven McCain 2096064
Wainwright State Plantation
2665 Prison Road 1
Lovelady, Texas 75851
Mongoose Distro 