pity for the butterflies


and where the butterflies roam as they may
upon my flesh and bone they prey

nothing yields to compassion
and nothing wields beauty
like the sunlight
but for the grey and bleary skies
of autumn’s hive
once buried by the drones
and the envy of all those
who dream
as butterflies swallowed whole
by an inherent desire
to spread their wings
and hit the ceilings
sire stars shine empty feelings
and wish the best in double meanings

the butterfly kids
and their caterpillar sins
all the while
they’re in season
come the autumn
blow the wind
and make the best of it
as perfect as they’re made out to be
but without
lies within
and what is merely make-believe

is as praised are those
who dare to tame
the forever maimed
and spiteful of their destiny
in spite of me
i am to blame for none of this
nothing wields beauty
like a candle in the wind
some things were never meant to live
to flicker, fade, through sun and shade
and wither, die, they know not why

and when the butterflies come out to play
drown out
what my heart could never say




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