A square of paper, plain as ****** snow.
A fold, a crease, potential now began.
Life stands anew, now given room to grow,
as something forms beneath the will of man.

Wings skyward seek and, touching brightest blue,
take flight to traverse freedom’s great unknown.
Wherever life’s desires to roam hold true
a paper bird best shows how hope is sown.

Yet now my flock, one thousand strong, is made,            
so many scraps of paper now transformed,
I regret the theft of hope now grayed,            
forgotten as the lost potential stormed.

Now hope and freedom are but empty words
I lay before a flock of lifeless birds.