Paper

Paper like wings beat the air,
No sense or sorrow, no sense of care.
Littering the path, wherevers in its wake.
Telling each step a story, or some advice to take.

They can be found everywhere you know,
Little paper birds, that flutter and go.
They can change your life, your view and mind.
Depending upon the meaning that you find behind.

Some call them books, others call them prose...
But every one will tell you how their own story goes.
I'd like to think I will write my own.
Until this happens I'll read what I roam.