Have you ever wondered about the wings
Of that one butterfly? That glimmers under
The sun like sapphire, that looks like ash
Under the dim light, it was obfuscating how
It looks surreal. I've always thought they were
Different, flew distinctly, clearly it was like
Chimera; and it was like gold—a fool's gold.
Many would have thought it was just
One butterfly that bends its wings with time,
That a crevasse between it would be
Unprecedented for it truly was. Yet it was just
One butterfly that hides both truth and truth,
Its wings that bends light, not time. It bends
The sight of a mundane, of someone whose
Ignorance was vast as its knowledge—it was
A paradox.
YOU ARE READING
Carry Me Out
PoetryI wish I'd carry me out of the things I never want to be with. I wish I'd carry me out of this life, to leave what I had dreamed, to neglect what I had sown.
