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Butterfly Dreams You found me unworthy. turned away, without a second thought. So I hung there; cocooned… wrapped in a silken shroud spun from decaying dreams Dead to the world I knew. I was becoming… A life form without boundaries. Un-tethered… The confines that kept me ensnared by earths lure …severed Wings… Glorious wings: grew furled within my embracing haven. They needed only time, and tempering, to create a magnificent display. I would no longer have need of petty fantasies. I wouldn’t long for lustful glances or tender worshiping words. I had known the sorrows of the lowly caterpillar. Crawled thru life eating dirty leaves and flaccid foliage. Wept as brethren died after tasting hunger, unnourished by the wilted weeds of despair. I longed to soar among the flowers sipping nectar from sweetly scented pistols. But emerging seemed impossible. Love was for the beautiful… So I spit out my shame, drew it close around my misshapen form, and swathed myself in its lackluster threads. I waited with the apprehension of the lost. Hope draped thru shadowy memories as a new creation to manifested itself. I hear you whisper to me… I dare to dream again as fragile flags unfold. Gossamer hues glisten in the warm sun. Desire flutters across my aching heart. Lavender scented spires call to me. I lift my head and tremble with the wind Metamorphosis… Heaven is within my grasp. I ascend… landing in your outstretched hands. You quiver as you caress my body, lay me softly on a crushed-velvet bed. Ecstasy is only a heartbeat away, as you thrust… into my incredulous carcass. Life… drains. Horrified obstinacies fall upon your deaf ears as triumphantly – you hang me there… Another empty trophy, among the hundreds on your wall. Patricia Gibson-Little June 10, 2003 |
Additional Notes:
I’m unsure about the title… actually I’m unsure about a lot of it. Originally this poem ended after “heaven is within my grasp” but you know how poems can be. I went to bed and all night I kept waking up thinking that the butterfly was so sure that being a beautiful butterfly was going to be so great and solve all it’s problems… what if it turned out that the great love it thought it was now worthy of ended up taking a pin and sticking it in a collection with hundreds of others who thought they were just as special? Love is like that sometimes. But did the you feel pain and horror for the suffering the butterfly knew when it realized that what had happened? Should I work on it more? Or should I go back to my happy ending? Oh yeah, what about the layout? Lots and lots of questions… thank you.
Patti
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