Tiny Fires

 

I folded my love a paper heart
that opened like wings
like a book
and I handed it over
hoping it would be cherished
I folded my love a paper flower and gave it with a spring feeling
like all was new and beginning
and unfurling in the sun
I folded my love a crane with an open beak that looked like it was singing
so that the music would be for everyone and not just me
strange that all that paper
made such a tiny, insignificant fire

©jayetomas2014

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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