Ruin

The ruin of sky called life rested in serenity, in rippling zephyr floated a butterfly free. Its tinged wings embossed your identity, as wilted flowers bloomed again for me. The horizon splashed hues of ecstasy, to blossom dreams as I was on course to fly. Rapture took me to the realm of fantasy, I didn’t see clouds gathered at edge of ruined sky. Splintered on the threshold of tarnished twilight, in deep dismay I found my sky’s ruins lie, wane with my dreams in storm of morose night. Wrecked, I was sucked in the stillness of its eye. The flushed vale turned to pallid wasteland fast, dry flowers didn’t see the new sun rise in sky, the surge of my tear drowned the pleasant past, rinsed colors from the collapsed wings of butterfly. October 7, 2021 Brian Strand's Contest A Strand (1055)