Poet 11586

Working on metaphors-the crumpled paper

My brother is the blank page;
My sister is the ink pen.
My parents were the covers
That we were bound in.
I was torn from that book
By an unforeseen hand.
I can only lay and look
From the ground where I land.
I am a crumpled piece of paper
In a world of electronic screens.
In a country of skyscrapers
I am but a cottage on the street.
I am a crumpled piece of paper,
But I long for the day,
When I will be unfolded at last
And finally have something to say.