You're my stillborn
butterfly
afraid of your new beauty
with limp wings,
pried from the
safety of your cocoon
by my old hands
in a forest where
everything
is charred.
Only the skeletons
of trees
once lush with life
and birdsongs
can admire your
strange elegance
as you lay listless
on their roots
that thirst for a
storm of passing love
and thunder.
I want to carry you
away
to my field of
wildflowers
and resurrect you
with the unmasked glow
of the shy moon, who
only shows its face
in this meadow of
lies.
I'll watch the
breeze wake you on my fingertips
then let you fly
away, carelessly
into a world of
color
I'll
never compare to.
beautiful!
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