Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Tori_GinterPoems
She did not have soft hands Her hands were red. Her hands were a boneyard. Her hands were tired. But through all the folds and shapes Out of her paper mistakes She made cranes. She made them for the people she loved And sometimes, the people she hated. The cranes stood in her favourite places Or they marked “I would literally rather be anywhere else right now”. A blue one for Portland A red for Sanfransisco Yellow for, She stops. He always said he loved the colour yellow. Time withered on and she withered with it Soon, she was gone. And as if the people had nothing left of her They wepped. Yellow, he thought. He looked up through his sorrows A yellow paper crane Peered about on a windowsill What once blended in the crowd Now stood out like treasure Some say the paper cranes flew that day She would have liked that.
0
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 1:40 PM UTC
She made paper cranes
She did not have soft hands Her hands were red. Her hands were a boneyard. Her hands were tired. But through all the folds and shapes Out of her paper mistakes She made cranes. She made them for the people she loved And sometimes, the people she hated. The cranes stood in her favourite places Or they marked “I would literally rather be anywhere else right now”. A blue one for Portland A red for Sanfransisco Yellow for, She stops. He always said he loved the colour yellow. Time withered on and she withered with it Soon, she was gone. And as if the people had nothing left of her They wepped. Yellow, he thought. He looked up through his sorrows A yellow paper crane Peered about on a windowsill What once blended in the crowd Now stood out like treasure Some say the paper cranes flew that day She would have liked that.
Leave your mark on the world
#paper#sad#love#feature#mustread
Tori_Ginter
Written by
Tori_Ginter
16/F
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 1:40 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem