Zin Lim Poet Ballad

Dead Butterflies

After all this, what is it for?

I climbed a mountain only to face a brick wall

Drowned in my own sweat and tears

Wishing I had cried even more

I smiled when I saw

the flowers atop the trees

Only to venture nearer and see

that they were only snowfall.

Now I am torn

by the wire-like branches

Worn

by the whiplash of wind.

Buried 

under carcasses of butterflies

Watching the stars fall.

After all this, what is it for?

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