The Hymn of Freedom

The Hymn of Freedom The butterfly could not formulate glass on which it battered its flimsy wings freedom lay beyond the pane still cruelly beckoning with light and colour the scent of flowers and open fields How like a god I was as I sat and watched the implacable glass tear its wings apart and I heard a choir of voices singing to me I sat and let the butterfly die baked by the heat and its struggle to be free

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Colin Mitchell Williams

Date: 12/4/2008 10:17:00 AM

... I just wonder how long it will be before the wondrous heart and beautiful spirit of mankind will be left... beating its wings on the implacable glass.. in every single life, through all these centuries, mothers, fathers children, born, died, love, hope, dreams.. and the unaccounted grandeur of everything that we are, left here, on this tiny planet, in this vast and magnificent galactic... when will we be deemed something more than just paltry ..... hey GOD.. I am asking YOU that ..!!!!!!!!!!

Denis Joe

Date: 12/4/2008 3:20:00 AM

This is an imaginative metaphor. The flow of the poem make it seem longer than it actually is; this is a good thing as it suggests that a lot is being said. The language is great: not to flowery or pretentious. And the structure of the stanza is great, the enjambment ties in well with the narration.

Michael Torres

Date: 12/2/2008 2:31:00 PM

Colin this is touching boy did I feel for that buterfly wanting it to have its freedom. You put me there gripping and touching. Freedom is a great thing to have. You have made me realize even more here.Loveyour truth's and imagination. Michael

John Loving Iii

Date: 12/2/2008 1:07:00 PM

wouldn't it be great if like in the twilight zone you could trade places with that butterfly. nice write. jhl