Paper dies, so do I.

Fresh flowers rise from the dead
dyeing the paper that read:

“It is in the realm of uncertainty
where we choose honor
without understanding its meaning.”

Paper dies, again,
and so do I.

We become the silent followers
of those who know nothing,
but ego.

Tiny stems rise from the dead,
hoping to become the flowers
whose petals will dye the papers,
so one day it can be read:

“Honor exists if it is love.”

Signature Lina Ru