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little dead butterflies

Posted by pirensesjadijedi on August 17, 2008

My heart is finally scattered in my chest like little dead butterflies…

The little legs and wings twitch sometimes and this makes me cry a lot…

The icebergs in my soul melted away and turn into rain full of tears…

Here in the cavity of my chest now there exists only the little dead butterflies…

Little dead butterflies shattered in the deep hollow chest, where there used to be a heart…

Cold breeze sweeping the corners of emptiness. The sound is hollow; the sound is like a ghost from the past…

There is only a bit of soul left for the little dead butterflies. With an effort they twitch their wings towards the breeze. In each attempt of twitch a tear solemnly falls from the cheeks dancing down to the chin.

That is it!

Over…

Too late…

Then the music raise up its perfect mathematical equation to the new blue daylight. The echo of the music slowly gets louder as the light transforms into a day. The pigeon leave to look for their destination; the seagulls spread their wings to the liquid horizon…

Back to the beginning…

Lost…

Over…

Too late…

Paralysed…

Can’t leave…

First time can’t go…

Intention in the muscles is moving the small fairies in the torso, but can’t move.

Wishing for a double destination…

Content, full and tranquil…

Is the impossible a possibility now?

Is this only a resemblance?

It should be different now. The taste is like a remembrance from the past. Somehow trustable…

Little dead butterflies lifted their heads up. The cage of the heart became lucid. Now there is a warm breeze from a liquid destination. It is blowing life in to the dept of the little dead butterflies struggling to stay alive. As the breeze swept the emptiness, the space became a whole.

Little dead butterflies lifted their heads up with a slow awakening. Still the wings are fragile, gaining trust as they embrace the spirits coming from far beyond. It is no longer cold crashing the back of their wings. Soon they might be able to fly to the unknown. The unknown of the second soul. Soon they might be able to fly with the other creatures trapped dead in the other soul to an unknown destination.

Forever…

Possible…

Scared a lot…

Scared a lot…

Scared a lot…

Scared a lot…

Scared a lot…

Scared a lot…

Scared a lot…

Scared a lot…

Scared a lot…

Scared a lot…

Scared a lot…

Scared a lot…

Scared a lot…

Scared a lot…

Scared a lot…

Scared a lot…

Scared a lot…

Scared a lot…

Scared a lot…

silence


Series of crimes…

Crimes of the heart…

Lingering in unhopeful dreams…

Lost in the vastness of spatial emptiness…

Really afraid…

Scared…

So scared that I can’t breathe.

My chest is burning…

My stomach is pushing…

There I am standing as the victim of the crimes.

The crimes of hearth

Celebrating the death of my hearth.



Little dead butterflies once again twitched their last remaining wings in the hollow emptiness of my hearth.

There appeared a awakening.

Not long ago…

but far from now.

Thought the spring is back again.

Anyhow…

It was just a lie…

Once more the fear shaped itself to reality.

The butterflies stopped.

Emptiness…

Hollow…

No sound except the cold cold wind.

No more tears this time…

Over

I guess…

Too late…

To survive…

Too late…

For everything…

But,

Still there is an orange coloured sunset to embrace. There is still a sound left over by the horizon to feel. Still there are wondering pale faces on the streets making one laugh as you pass them by. Still there is a lot of fun left to live. Still I find it amusing to be the only one. The only one outside…

JADI © JEDI agustos/august 2008

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