Paper Poem by Javier Falcon

I am quite fond of this plane,
where my words seem to glide,
so abstract from all its surroundings,
gently cutting through the air,
piercing people's skin without concern,
creating wounds of utter knowledge.
But even being there people don't know,
who or what it may be.
Not knowing at all,
what it is unless they see upon it,
reading the trails it leaves behind,
history not to be forgotten.
Words never to be lost.