Literature
Butterfly Burns.
When evening descends like silence,
The red butterflies come.
Fading into the fire of sunset,
Unseen.
Spreading stars with their wings.
The way to follow them:
Quietly. Catch a glimmer of red,
A pulsing heartbeat, a wingbeat,
Alive.
They're alive; seek them out.
It's as if secrets come alive
When the world shuts its eyes.
A butterfly lands on my arm.
Gentle.
Fire and starlight, on my skin.
An ethereal dimension, the night
Sweetens my senses.
So I barely feel it when the butterfly
Burns.
I won't feel it until morning, awake.
It made a conscious choice, to
Leave a mark on my soul, my body.
But it never had malicious
Intentions.
From my pers