Wednesday, December 02, 2009

My Wounds 

I chased a monarch butterfly
to keep in a bottle to cherish
but I could not keep up with it
as it fluttered aimlessly in space.
I got so preoccupied,
I never saw the intense redness of the roses,
the black tulips , chrysenthemums.
Not even the dandelions
that carpeted the lawn.

In my eagerness,
I stumbled and cut my arm
with a broken glass
left by some careless, lazy bum.
(Or maybe it was me?)
It hurt so much I wanted
to cut off my hand.

The butterfly flit by
reminded me of your sweet smile,
your lissom body, vulnerable
to the faintest gasp of foul air.
And I remember how I long to touch
your soft, long, silken hair,
your velvety hands.
But you are no longer there.
I had been chasing nothing.
The monarch butterfly and the woman
I longed to care for are just dreams
I wove in my troubled mind.


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