The World of Paper

Where do I stand,
It's all white.
Sometimes lined,
Many-a-times just plain.
But it's a wonder as it is,
Others don't seem to notice;
And nobody does ever concur,
that their beloved, evermore
world is made of paper.

Vulnerable to fire,
Susceptible to rain
And still keeper of all.
It stands on a whim,
will fall if base gets taper.
Gradually it's tearing,
No matter how greater,
But still, I shall not amend,
After all, it's a world of paper.
Thence I ask myself,
Where do I stand?