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Lindsey Charlotte


The Butterfly

The Butterfly

 

A caterpillar crawls 

Down the side of a leaf

That wilts under her weight

 

She drops playfully

To a branch below

And dangles off the edge.

 

In contortionist moves

She weaves a silken hammock

And leans back. writhing.

 

In pain, seemingly,

And her once vibrant green

Is relinquished.

 

The caterpillar falls to the floor.

The writhing stops.

 

And eons pass as days.

Six still sunsets later

A silken shape splits, and she is born.

 

The sky sees her beauty

In painted aqua hues,

And screams in pain,

In jealousy of her blue.

 

And so it carries out

One thing only it can do,

And sends torrents of rain

To the insect born anew.

 

And she flaps her silken wings

And the weather begins to pursue

Its newfound silky bane

The butterfly's wings accrue

 

Wet beads. And she begins to flap frantically

Flying, flopping, as each drop lands

 

On her failing wings. Crumpling, under

All the rain, sent by a jealous sky

 

She falls into a puddle on dying grass,

And the sky’s tears absorb her failing cobalt wings.

 




Envoyé: 18:41 Fri, 22 March 2024 by : Lindsey Charlotte age : 16