In this house
they won't hear your cries
in the purple corridor
of butterflies.
Knock once or twice
if you have the nerve.
The golden door opens
for those who deserve.
Who walk in the midst
of paper souls.
Who guide the lost
and cry for those.
Cry for those who breathe to groan
who walk the night all alone.
Knock once or maybe twice,
your heart has surely paid the price.
I stepped on the misty grounds,
followed the hidden muffled sounds.
Touched the dust wet from tears,
prepared to face my dreaded fears.
And broke down the golden door.
Silence shook half the sky
as I caught the wings of butterflies.
As I tore open the stitched up wounds
and made my way down the corridor.
A boy, I saw, sat against the wall,
head on his knees, curled up in a ball.
His golden locks caught the sight of a moth
as he raised his head, eyes sparking wrath.
Murmuring softly I raised my hand
and the moth circled, it knew of my plan.
So the boy sat still and closed his eyes
as I lit on fire the purple corridor of butterflies.
YOU ARE READING
Värvitud sinised linnud
PoetryVärvitud sinised linnud on kurvad. Nad ei nuta, vaid raputavad tiibasid ja pritsivad värvi. Kogumik luuletustest nii inglise kui ka eesti keeles. / The colored blue birds are sad. They will not cry, but shake their feathers and spray paint. This is...
