Paper

It’s just paper, isn’t it?

brushstrokes grace the page,

Masterpieces are formed,

Ignited by a fierce flame,

I can combust instantaneously,

Folded and manipulated and released,

I can aviate and soar inordinate distances,

Prepared and printed, articles are created,

I can both mislead and inform, 

Smouldering anger floods the page,

I can infuriate and harm,

Majestic words of contentment and love,

I can flatter and charm,

Water is my enemy,

Pencils are my friend,

I can inflict a wound,

With edges like blades on each end, 

Along with many capabilities,

With paper comes endless possibilities.