the paper dart

A fucked up paper dart
made to fly through and prick
and fall harmlessly to the ground

a piece of flimsy
a piece of light
a piece to potentially crumble
at the mere glimpse of firelight

this delusional
this illusional
bieng
of multiple purposes
chose to become a dart
rather than fodder for thought

sought to fight
with what meager means it could
with its weakling point
to inflict less than
a mosquito bite
and then to crumple
to be trampled
in the mud and dirt
instead of being preserved
in some library somewhere.

what drove it?
from a life of glamour
and relative comfort
of social acceptance
of respect and distinguishment?

what drove it
to acquire a licence
for one glorious flight
one glorious ride
only to end up a few seconds later
barely alive?

barely remembered
barely existent
was it all worthwhile?
for a momentary thrill
a one time high
of actually feeling alive?