The Captain And The Butterfly Book 3 Poem by Falfalla Ardroy

(The Butterfly for her Captain)

All the light in all the world has been extinguished.
The music is stilled. The birds no longer fly and the
The flowers no longer bloom.
My blood no longer flows for there is no longer heart.
I have no longer flesh for it has been flayed from
my bones, and my bones have been crushed
by the weight of the world.
Where my breathing was there is only silence.
Where my thinking was there is only void.
Where my fire was there is only ice.
While he walked upon the earth
My blood was in his veins and
His love was in my every cell.
And it was enough.
But now there is no blood, there are no cells.
The heart of my blood, the blood of my heart,
The light of my dark, the dark of my light,
The soul of my word, the word of my soul,
The joy of my body, the body of my joy,
My Love, my Captain, my King is dead.
And I, I am condemned to life.

(The Butterfly for her Captain)
You are gone and with you
The sun. All light is gone
all sound, all sense,
all movement, all purpose.
There are no longer projects
to occupy the long empty minutes,
the little passing hours,
the endless barren days.

This is not sorrow,
this is death of all sensation.
There is only sightless, soundless surrender.
There is no yearning on the silent tongue,
There is no longing in the listless limbs,
There is no breathing in the shrunken lungs.
There is chilled congealing of the blood.
There is cellular disintegration of the heart.

This is not sorrow.
Sorrow has a gentle hue
But here there is only monochromatic scything
that slashes my being and hacks
silent screaming from my throat.
The Cartesian demon has me in his grasp.
There is no longer world.
There is no longer life.

(The Butterfly for her Captain)
Today I was sent a photograph of him.
Across a continent and our great blue ocean
came this virtual image of a man
who only ever wrote with pen or typewriter.
The lost love of twenty six years.
Sixty seven years old he would have been,
Still master of a great white ship.
Four bars now on his epaulettes.
And still so very beautiful.

Same broad shoulders, same slim waist,
Same straight, strong, aristocratic back.
Same deeply smiling Mediterranean eyes.
Same sacerdotal mouth that turned my
wretched body into a sacred temple.
His charisma, his authority, his vitality,
shines from my computer screen
even as he lies now in his quiet grave.

Today I discovered the awful lie of
“Time will heal all wounds”.
God of mercy, if I must live
take this longing from my limbs
remove this rupturing of my heart.
Dispel this tormenting torture of tears,
this bruising brutality of breathing.
God of Grace,
I cannot endure this agony of loss.
Grant me peace or let me cross to him.

(The Butterfly for her Captain)
My Love, my Captain and my King
you are gone from me, from earthly life.
No tears of mine will return to me
the sweet brush of your lips against mine.
No cries of anguish will return to me
the deep warmth of your loving eyes.
No agony in my limbs will return to me
the fire and peace of our bodies united.
I will never again hear your laughter,
or the commanding resonance in your voice.
Never again will I soothe your rage
or feel your strength as you hold my trembling.

What remains is the memory that once
our feet were clad in finest silver
and we flew on wings of purest gold.
What remains is the real and unimaginable truth
that you found me in the deep of the water,
and you found me in the height of the wind.
and from our wastelands we found each other.

What remains is the truth of being
held together in the Refiner’s hand,
of being born together in blood and fire and ash.
and that my blood was in your veins
and you are in my every cell.
What remains is our eternal and sacred Eucharist,
Our thanksgiving for the days and nights of confirmation.

Sail on my Captain, Reign on my King,
May you have fair winds and velvet oceans
and may angels of light be your crew.
The sting of death is fleeting.
The victory of the grave is ephemeral.
I hold the door ajar for your noble spirit
that you may come softly in to
walk with me and talk with me
and master me on into the great adventure,
the boundless song of life and death.
Together we were born, together we are
and together we shall be
for we are made of the same divine clay
and we sail the same sacred oceans.
Namasté, my Captain, Namasté.