Author Information
The Butterfly
"Love is the gentle beating
of a butterfly's wings,
shush, child," she scolded
"Listen to all those hopes and dreams."
Eyes wide with wonder
ears fevered with the summer heat
I listened hard and never understood
After all having half a whole
never did anyone good
of a butterfly's wings,
shush, child," she scolded
"Listen to all those hopes and dreams."
Eyes wide with wonder
ears fevered with the summer heat
I listened hard and never understood
After all having half a whole
never did anyone good
Years passed and Autumn's rusty leaves
fell between empty sidewalk cracks and lonely feet
It seemed so long ago that I had dreamed
of a hand to hold
and a half to fill the hole
But no more, I thought, no more
There I stood, eyes void of wonder
ears turned cold to the sounds of others
staring down towards the city street
all filled up with hearts in tune to each other's beat
There I stood, defeated and alone,
having only known the bitter taste
of being thrown love's dusty bones
Off the ledge one foot moved
and suddenly my empty hand was two
I spat and kicked but you never let go
I hissed and yelled but you held me even so
I looked up towards one clearly more insane than I
only to find a pain I recognized
nestled in each part of your iridescent eyes
There we stood, inches apart
with no distance between us
fevered with the sudden summer heat
listening closely to the butterfly's
gentle beat.
