Blank Verse

The paper's blank, been untouched for so long,

Almost like it had been forgotten,

It's a miracle! The sheet survived all along,

It's still pristine white, not a spot rotten.

Oh, sweet blank paper, made of the trunk of a tree,

What set of hands held you last?

Maybe it was no one, maybe it's just me,

To me, you're a relic of the past.

I've never seen anything like you before,

Only heard myths of parchment and papyrus,

I happened to stumble across you, lying on the floor

You looked so different, so very desirous.

This one sheet of paper that I so dearly cherish,

You're like a piece of glass on a sandy shore.

Though you're not rectangular and a little bit squarish,

I'm fond of you all the more.

I have my tablet and computer, all spread out on my table,

Yet my gaze is drawn to you alone.

It's hard to believe you aren't a fable,

And I have a paper of my own.

They say that once our money was made of you,

But now all I see are cards and cell transactions.

I wonder the colors you could be in, red, yellow, or blue,

I wish we'd taken different actions.

They say in the Dome, at the center of our city,

There lies a beautiful garden.

But it's a great sadness, a shame and a pity,

For we bourgeoisie are only allowed in as a pardon.

I bet there's lush green trees there inside

With birds chirping to their hearts content,

But that's only within what the Dome hides,

For in the city, all we see is brick and cement.

Oh, precious paper, with a pristine white pallor,

I know you've seen better times than these.

To survive in this age must have taken a lot of valor,

To be the last of the products of the trees.

The papers now marked with ink like the night,

The words on it engraved in minds forever.

It may decay, but it'll continue to shine it's light

Faded to a dull gold, and precious as it more so ever.