It Was Never About The Origami...

It was never about the origami,
All perfect as it sat prim
with crisp edges ready to
Take flight, sail, or swim.
I envied the crane's freedom,
mute to the nightly negotiations
of man's poison, illicit affairs
and invalid accusations.

Marching through the crowds
of faceless androids,
drowning in monotony while
I, poster child of another tabloid
determined to reach an
unknown, unwaiting destination.
Silently, onwards in this
Unending demonstration.

My will is strong, I will not cry.
The voices of my mentors repeat
The words that sent me here
Echoing memories I can't delete.
Forgive me, for it's not you
That I am blaming, for an event
that you knew nothing of,
And not one you could even prevent.

Still you could have tried,
To shield me like others did.
To regain the love your
actions swiftly undid.
No voice needs such volume,
No tongue be so edged,
So unforgiving, yet with
love or so alleged.

The arrow to my heart, for yes
There was one. That word.
Such syllables together,
Poetry left unheard
And yet enough to return me
home, to you, your arms
where, despite all prior thought,
I knew I was safe, away from harm.

It was never about the origami,
Such a notion seems absurd
when you consider all the action
supposedly caused by a paper bird.
Lets fold these memories, events
away in a sharp edged boat
And calmly wave goodbye
As it sinks instead of float.

By Jenny Mitchell