It all started in the sunlight
The sun was proud and so was I
Her beautiful hair, warm eyes
The butterfly stretches its incredible purple wings
I loved to be alone
a gluttony for sentiment
She turned away from me
The butterfly's yellow wings collapse
I didn't want to be here.
Despair: desire all but death.
Her eyes evaded me with shame.
The black caterpillar collides once more with earth.
A knife through her heart, I knew she loved me.
Her blood so warm, it shows her lust.
She stared at me with glassy eyes.
I spoke at this funeral for a butterfly.
Was this real? A dream? Forgotten?
Only greed defines the difference.
She calls to me, a gentle whisper.
The butterfly's blue wings twitch again.
You aren't the one I love. Go away.
Your envy is a creature known as silence.
Her heart still beats, though faintly.
This butterfly will never fly again.
These iron chains can't hold me down.
My wrath won't dwell on what I've done.
Her hair flows like a river, how disturbing.
This butterfly must try. Flitter now, broken wing.
Yet life goes on. It never ends.
The sloth of a melancholy victory.
She never loved me. I hate her.
The butterfly spreads its bright white wings in flight.
------------------
I wrote this earlier this evening. (well, morning, now.)
Probably the most symbolic piece I have ever created.
I would like to know if it conveys my abstract message. If anyone wants to take a crack at interpreting even a part of it, I'd love to see what it means to someone else, and if it does convey the emotions and stories that hide behind it.
The sun was proud and so was I
Her beautiful hair, warm eyes
The butterfly stretches its incredible purple wings
I loved to be alone
a gluttony for sentiment
She turned away from me
The butterfly's yellow wings collapse
I didn't want to be here.
Despair: desire all but death.
Her eyes evaded me with shame.
The black caterpillar collides once more with earth.
A knife through her heart, I knew she loved me.
Her blood so warm, it shows her lust.
She stared at me with glassy eyes.
I spoke at this funeral for a butterfly.
Was this real? A dream? Forgotten?
Only greed defines the difference.
She calls to me, a gentle whisper.
The butterfly's blue wings twitch again.
You aren't the one I love. Go away.
Your envy is a creature known as silence.
Her heart still beats, though faintly.
This butterfly will never fly again.
These iron chains can't hold me down.
My wrath won't dwell on what I've done.
Her hair flows like a river, how disturbing.
This butterfly must try. Flitter now, broken wing.
Yet life goes on. It never ends.
The sloth of a melancholy victory.
She never loved me. I hate her.
The butterfly spreads its bright white wings in flight.
------------------
I wrote this earlier this evening. (well, morning, now.)
Probably the most symbolic piece I have ever created.
I would like to know if it conveys my abstract message. If anyone wants to take a crack at interpreting even a part of it, I'd love to see what it means to someone else, and if it does convey the emotions and stories that hide behind it.