Tu eres una Mariposa
briefly glimpsed as you shape shift.
barely visible, the tiny changes in
your colour, your poise, your presence.
ever onward, never linger, never giving
anything so much as the time of day.
you wander in, out, in, out and would
never think to consider the world beyond;
beyond the fragile borders of your flesh.
maybe once, but once and ne’er thereafter.
why then, be so much significance assigned?
reminder of forgotten ghosts, worlds, lives?
vicariously to ride upon your simple wing?
not so; yet still I contemplate, ponder that
which would be curious, were it not yours.
were you not there to flit, to flicker between
rows of stones and flowers, were I not allowed
to remain a silent witness, sideline passenger;
questionably madness, disinterest in the whole.
such a tiny thing, but painful when absent
and still so painful be it to observe you, still
silently standing by, never involved, invisible.
truth is often mistakable depending on where
you are positioned in the moment of said sight.
with that comes a question, begging to be decried.
is it truly your fickle nature, or is it mine?
---phoenix
5/23/2008
any copying/reproduction/distribution of this writing, in whole or in part, without express permission from the author is strictly prohibited. ©SaerenPhoenix 2008
(Please contact the author with questions.)
briefly glimpsed as you shape shift.
barely visible, the tiny changes in
your colour, your poise, your presence.
ever onward, never linger, never giving
anything so much as the time of day.
you wander in, out, in, out and would
never think to consider the world beyond;
beyond the fragile borders of your flesh.
maybe once, but once and ne’er thereafter.
why then, be so much significance assigned?
reminder of forgotten ghosts, worlds, lives?
vicariously to ride upon your simple wing?
not so; yet still I contemplate, ponder that
which would be curious, were it not yours.
were you not there to flit, to flicker between
rows of stones and flowers, were I not allowed
to remain a silent witness, sideline passenger;
questionably madness, disinterest in the whole.
such a tiny thing, but painful when absent
and still so painful be it to observe you, still
silently standing by, never involved, invisible.
truth is often mistakable depending on where
you are positioned in the moment of said sight.
with that comes a question, begging to be decried.
is it truly your fickle nature, or is it mine?
---phoenix
5/23/2008
any copying/reproduction/distribution of this writing, in whole or in part, without express permission from the author is strictly prohibited. ©SaerenPhoenix 2008
(Please contact the author with questions.)
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