My Butterfly.

You sat me down by the turquoise sea
And you set the waves on fire.
A paradox of pain to me;
Just rain on your attire.

So I imagined I was a butterfly
With wings that taught I couldn’t die...

As I prayed for life beyond your grasp,
You tightened your anguished grip.
Your grip around your line of slaves;
Around the torture of your whip.

Gravity contained my wings;
Invisibility of childish things...

These chains are shackled so permanently
The key no longer exists.
Just dust in your back pocket;
A deteriorating myth.

A silence muted my maturing mind;
My butterfly no more entwined.

You told me of a fledgling bird
That landed in your youth,
But never did it fly again;
Its freedom bound by you.

And so I saw your metaphor;
My basic freedom now no more.

You saw I couldn’t bear this thought;
A world without my dreams of flying.
But you didn’t see my light go out,
As my faith in all mankind was dying.

You didn’t just kill my human right,
You killed my mind; my thoughts; my fight.
You killed the wings that fuelled my light.
You killed me that first turquoise night.


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