21 May 2015

Mere Butterflies


Seeing a butterfly die takes a rage and 
plays agony, there’s no conscience you 
can enlighten to free the sensations - it 
is you in the throes of being suffocated - 
yet beauty belies prone pain expressed, 
a flicker of regret, pulsations of memory 
suppressed by gliding free; wings won't 
bear you away on this winsome prayer 

And yet the reflections make homage a 
satisfying way to what’s yet to come; its 
a truth about longevity, that wink-of-eye 
image never lost expressed, a candour 
of who we were and what we meant for 
each other back when mere butterflies 
© 8 February 2015, I. D. Carswell 



For May