engraved in stone,
No place for butterflies.
wounded wisps on their ornamented wings.
Incapable of reaching out of the cage
desperate attempts to grasp
the depth and the endless seeming wideness of the sky.
Cries nobody is able to hear
silent sounds of despair.
Ready to let go of the fluttering of dismay,
against invisible bars
made of doctrines, beliefs and hollow promises full of sorrow
which you can feel with every even tiniest part of your wing.
A soft wind puff, a breeze, smell of colors of relief
of unspeakable ache, unbearable you thought…
different glance, different feel
and the unutterable sense of
the cold curtail of ragged pages of tales never forgotten,
which have to be overwritten,
turned over, created new on every part
of your resounding beingness.
No place for butterflies?
Every spot is a place
the place YOU design,
on your wings