Paper Planes
Look
our leaders are des
cending from their war
torn planes. They are entering white grand buildings
behind which we imagine
are round stone tables
over which they are crouching
looking each other in the eye.
Look
at their contempt,
the glass windows
reflecting sunlight beams which spl
it into
an array of colors, dispersing over their heads.
Look
at our crumpled hopes, high
flying in
the sky, unfathomable,
unreachable
because our
leaders stare at each other,
mounting their own
war planes, while our children's
paper planes loop
below and
crash on heaps of
ash.