Ralph Whillier 15 November 2012
( A personalisation of an inanimate object )
A4 lay bare in a dark place.
Flat, forgotten. Yet insecure.
No light flickered on her face
To show her whiteness. Oh! So pure.
She waited for long wasteful hours
Wondering for when he might come.
Suddenly a bright light devours
Dark wood corners, surrounding some
More as her kind thrust together,
Neatly stacked, fresher, virginal.
His hand, under the cord tether
Slid her gently by marginal
Tugs. Separation from the cold
He gently laid her on his desk,
Wide open for him to behold
Ideas in his mind, not grotesque.
She blankly lay there. And he struck
Time after time he left his mark.
Scratching her. Creating a ruck.
He screwed her up and with a bark
Threw her on the floor. Let her roll
Across the boards. Cat lay in wait.
It pounced ripping her like a doll.
Fragments. Torn paper was her fate.
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