I Was a Butterfly
This was his time, and for him
The sun was at its zenith,
And strangely too the moon-
Midnight and noon,
And all in the universe
For him strewn:
The stars glittered- for him;
The stars glittered- like him,
Filling the midnight sky;
Shooting across in ecstasy
Or falling crashing down,
Or stopping standing still;
Any or all these things-
At his command
And at his will,
And upon his whim.
In his prime was the creature
Seeming hardly past his youth-
But he was past his youth.
No flaw in his beauty-
That anyone could see,
Not even he could see;
No, no not yet, but yet,
There was a feeling now
That he would not always be
What he had always been.
But...still it was summer...
At its height and his apex,
The season the precious thrive,
And dance in the lighted dark
Admired by all the less so,
Yes, admired by all-
All that he admired-
All those admiring eyes.
And the heat of night,
As he danced through the night,
Bathed him in sweat
That saltly tasted,
Yet so sweetly glistened
Upon his perfection-
His sparkling perfection-
Perfecting the perfection:
That would win him any prize-
Any prize with admiring eyes.
And so it did
As it always did,
And so it was
As it always was.
But...later he lies awake...
Lies awake in the dark
Beside the prize with admiring eyes-
Beside those closed sleeping eyes.
And it was his time,
His time when,
Just before gray dawn creeps in,
When sudden realization creeps in-
When suddenly he knows:
His sun will someday descend,
Strangely too someday his moon-
But way too soon,
The butterfly returns
To the cocoon.
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Comments about this poem (I Was a Butterfly by Mark Farek )
- They Say, Rachel Glassman
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- Die Frau des Gastwirts, Wolfgang Steinmann
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- Hindsight coloured, Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
- Practise dispassion., Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
- Reichsbank Gold, Paul Hartal
- Ferguson Grand Jury, Is It Poetry
- The lost bliss, Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
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