Paper man,
Walking by gracefully,
Flowing with the wind,
Uplifted by the breeze.
Even the most trained eye wouldn’t see his worn paper exterior,
The slight tears at his edges.
These are his marks.
The everlasting marks of being crumpled,
over and over again by the pressures of life.
Like an origami master,
He skillfully folds himself to adjust.
Fold after fold after fold,
He continues to shift and shape until the crumpled being he once was,
is no more.
Oh paper man,
Who walks by gracefully,
Who flows with the wind,
Who is uplifted by the breeze,
How many more times can you fold yourself until your now brittle paper rips apart?