Butterfly Thing 🦋

Like a moth to a flame,

butterfly to a wheel drawn.

Light so bright it burns,

calling out - calling all.

Beacon of storm,

in the night - bright.

Shining then gone,

on and on - then just - gone.

Through the dark dancing,

swooping twisting romancing.

Dreaming the dreams,

of better days to come.

Moth like on it goes,

wings broken by the wheel.

Light bright once,

dims and fades.

Fades to grey,

Smudges into the dank.

House of light blinks,

harbour safe - reaching out.

Through the dark dancing,

swooping twisting romancing.

Dreaming the dreams,

of what may come to be.

Wings broken and torn,

fly pretty fly the call - but no.

Alas - broken and bruised,

tattered forlorn alone.

Blackened as jet,

Scorned here is this home.

Moth or butterfly  tight and drawn,

shielded no flight - safe the feeling.

Through the dark dancing,

swooping twisting romancing.

Dreaming the dreams,

of what has gone.

Rise once more,

see the light bright.

Colours calling,

flowers so bright.

A sea of mud crawled thus,

flower calls out - bright as light.

Wings outstretched - reaching out,

soar high or fall low - its one and the same.

Through the dark dancing,

swooping twisting romancing.

Dreaming the dreams,

of better days once more.

Dare to face,

that which inside sits.

Whatever be spoken or thought,

gripping so tight.

Sometimes - too much,

the marks be left as scars.

Fade they may,

if you just let them go.

Through the dark dancing,

swooping twisting romancing.

Dreaming the dreams,

that may yet come to pass.