Paper Scraps

Paper scraps.
Torn edges, worn creases,
These paper scraps mark the days,
Count the lives, enumerate the ways
I've tried to tell a simple thought
By simple turn of phrase.

Paper scraps.
They lie accumulated,
My past illuminated by their fast or faded print.
Once rent from pads or notebook sheets
And settled in unsightly heaps
They provide the only glance
At hope eternal,
Past romance

Paper scraps.
What mighty wooden giant fell
So they could have their story there to tell?
As I wander through torn pages
Self-pity, friends, and hothead rages
Chase me down from where I've been
And flutter, noiselessly within
A dusty corner of the room
That holds this joy and gloom
'Midst business card
And matchbook backs
And other tear-stained
Paper scraps.

Paper scraps.
They beat the Hell from coffee spoons
For measuring the highs and lows
Of wives and lovers, 
Comes and goes,
And paper scraps are all I see
Of all the lies I've told to me,
Of all I saw and didn't see,
Of all I'm not
Or all I'll be
Just paper scraps of me