Documents

In our recent line up of poems I thought it was about time I put up an existential poem about documents...what can I say I hope you enjoy it :)

DOCUMENTS

Documents have personality
They have smiles
Strange ones hidden in plain sight
They have less meaning than they say
They don't like to say anything too plain
They're a bit self conscious
They're born a bit different to us
Printed and then very soon after
Touched and handled
Therebare document that are safe and happy in folders with rings
Some are torn in frustration
Some are ripped carelessly
Some are even stepped on and their
Beautiful whiteness is muddied
Unfortunate ones are bound
Striking holes in their flesh
So that we might better read them
Smothered between plastic and cardboard
They do not have eyes or feet
They don't need them
We do
We use them daily
We use their words and we use them
Because they feel nice and proper in our hands
They catch the sweat of nerves
They carry our nerves as we gouge ink marks into them
we feel relief to bin then and forget they exist
The thing is so many personalities get twisted and reknitted because they do not die
As we destroy the old so a new is born
So I'm told
The pulp soup of millions congeals into a whole so that they are reborn
Somehow then they are invincible
Yet they are also chained to us
We are their gods
And yet they overwhelm us
Occupying space time and thoughts until it seems we can't live without them as much as we created them
We carry them in cages of iron
We build temples to them or in order to forget them
When they get older dusty beards form
Slowly the pages rot as with all things
They are used and tossed aside
They are enthroned and abused
They live and die.