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The Butterfly
Stepping out of my cacoon one evening
After rain had drenched the grass
and sprayed the ground under the trees,
I saw you etched against the yellow light of the sun.
A raindrop which had lingered on the branches
fell between us and died,
and with wings spread against the backdrop of life,
flying upon your words, I laughed through the years.
Above the sounds of Sorrow,
Over the blackness of Thought,
When conscience glides over the surface of Fear,
I somersault through the trapeze of pitfalls,
sailing graceful curves into you,
unmindful of the waning sun.
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