Papyrus of the Modern Era
In the crisp, dark cool of the evening sky
A breeze caresses my mahogany hair;
And as I gently heave a wayward sigh
A sunset-coloured leaf falls on my chair.
My calloused fingers move along the surface
I imagine what kind of stories await;
The realm of imaginings to purchase
To what other worlds I will soon create.
The rough yet smooth skin of the papyrus
Hides nothing, shows all of a secret face
And as my mind flies as high as Icarus
I get a glimpse of an old, secret place.
I start to understand human nature
And I finally begin to mature.















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