© Jonathan P. Potter
What was once a child's castle of disillusionment,
Only remains to be used at the whimsical wanderings,
Of a lonely young boy with a solitary pair of slicing scissors.
Now with the easily frustrated fragility of a child,
It is taken from its torn tower of grandeur.
Left empty, unfulfilled in its fullness it remembers,
A tortuous time of Homer and Shakespeare.
It strengthened steadily through Roosevelt's Reformation.
It gave guilty witness to Kennedy's Killing.
Trading its tricky secrets with Truman's Temple.
It once was an infrastructure of naturally created Complexity,
Lying in careless, crumpled abandon on the floor.
But Daddy, its only a piece of paper.