Counterintuitive
A kite's skeleton
Only tiny little
Wisps of rice paper
Still latched onto the frame
Abandoned
The only presence
That of a lowly shadow
So lonely
Resting beside a bin
Hoping the little boy
Will come play with it
Again
But wind wears away skin
And the weight of the world
Pulls you towards the core
The little boy,
Is no longer small
He is old and weary
Time has tugged little
Kite strings of his memory
Away from him
His skin folds in
Tiny little wrinkles
And the kite slowly withers
No longer painted with vibrant
Cherry blossom flowers