“Fly, my small butterfly…”
I open the eyes and I see the spring…
A enormous extended, of colors flowers, rests,
between the infinites spins of grass of a green field…
The coppers of trees oscillate,
rock from a coolness and crystalline wind…
A golden sun heats my heart, giving to me hope,
making to by now appear on mine mouth a smile,
buried for a long time…
But then…
But then…
But then, all it vanishes…
But, all then firm…
But then, all it comes destroyed…
The leaves fall, the grass are sand bank, the empty flowers,
the smile changes in are leood…
Also the last butterfly, blood of my illusion, is flown beyond of field
and hour here, closed in same me,
I collect its cocoon, opened by now for a long time…
"Fly, my small butterfly,
my tears will accompany you in yours along distance,
having helped you to go ahead…"
"Fly, my small butterfly,
between reading clouds of a fresh primaverile day
and that your heart can a day return to love…"
Seated ther, to the height of a ravine,
I lengthen the arms to the sky, for greeting a last time my butterfly
and jumping down, in that empty infinitely, a last tear comes down from my ace,
in order then to catch up my cold extended body to earth,
by now lacking in life…
Slowly, slowly, my eyes are extinguished
and in that dusk that is left over sees all then my more distant memories
and, with crumbling force, I pronounce my last words…
"Remeber to me, my small butterfly…."
what a disturbed brain
Comment by malocchio — February 15, 2008 @ 12:09 pm