as i slowly walk at the center of the road,
i've seen a dead butterfly
with torn edges at its wings.
its blackness is the color of the night.
its fainting glance on me
drained out all his life in one last breath.
it was a normal day:
warm mornings going to hot blazing afternoons
like this was normal & trivial to ponder—
what is death, and why do we live to escape it?
today, as i think about why
the butterfly was killed,
i am torn between edges of dread metaphors.
maybe it was flying in land then got
crushed on big wheels of motorcycles,
or dead upon its arrival,
or died 'cause of old age
since it has fulfilled its wish
to kiss the petals once more.
unthinkable of that, i, a human being,
don't also know where
we'll go flying and traversing in places
we want to go—whether we go flittingly
or slowly to our paths that we decided to go on
or just be crushed, stucked, unaware
that death will catch us
when we're just living
like in a normal day.
but i want you to remember:
love, fly upon gardens i've given you.
rush your wings and be one with the air.
no matter how close you are not to me.
no matter how far, press your wings
against the morning light.
no matter how much storms & hurricanes
will topple your steady wings.
even though you said to yourself
that you've been a dead butterfly once—
i'll bring flowers for you again.
and again, let me be with you
not in a normal day like this.
and i'll even love you
in a normal day when
you give me a short glance
and a torn black wing—
when i am born loving flowers,
and comfortably watching you
tread the center of the road.
like a normal day, von frederick
October 07, 2023
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Pieces of Moonbeams
PoetryPieces of Moonbeams | 2023 This poetry collection contains proses & proses woven from my heart. Pieces here are a part of me. Stained by longing, love, grief, hurt, happiness, and any other available emotion I could profoundly describe. -- I am rel...
