I stepped on a butterfly
broke its wings
shattered its luminescent arms transcended
solely made for air distance
to ride in the wind.
Veins, exposed
blood freely now broken
pixelated dots of red crimson delight
shattered on a blade of glass next to my heel.
I was not thoughtful.
purely clumsy and self absorbed
as I made my way into my path
and buried a creature into another.
innocent lost.
could not have picked its wings
voluntarily
knowing that each was put there
lovingly
by time caressed in a cocoons nest.
danced with time, laden with metamorphosis
and fruitful bliss bearing an entangled chrysalis
engulfed out of the need
to grow. birth. reborn.
in a next lifetime.
i stepped on a butterfly.
killed its lighthearted dance from a low hanging branch
suckling the nectar off a fallen flower. how...
appropriate. nearly serendipitous if a love was to blow a kiss
and i was to miss it based on a fallen flower and Poincare
with its Chaos Theory held in time, ever revolutionary.
How this simple act
shaped its wind off the back of my heels, created movement in the
blanket of invisible air,
made a tornado, ravenous and unyielding without a care
gathering its strength moving from one continent to the next
seen as an entire global complex
All tiny and precarious actions, once secondary and of free will
now have the everlasting impression of a tattooed spirit
inked of scaled wings and a cheap thrill
and I question the chronological error to even mention if the eyes had ever seen
the brown skin, mahogany
lips full, heavily
did he ever came back
to
me?
because I stepped on a Monarch's wings.
-b.r.rivera-taylor
(To all the loves out there waiting in purgatory: to enter the past, you must be willing to know that this might bring future mistakes with love. If its love, set it free. If it flies back-it was meant to be. You cannot change the past and recreate the magic that once was; you can only live in the present, and hope for the future. Blessings.)
The Butterfly Effect.
images by commons wikimedia org.
broke its wings
shattered its luminescent arms transcended
solely made for air distanceto ride in the wind.
Veins, exposed
blood freely now broken
pixelated dots of red crimson delight
shattered on a blade of glass next to my heel.
I was not thoughtful.
purely clumsy and self absorbed
as I made my way into my path
and buried a creature into another.
innocent lost.
could not have picked its wings
voluntarily
knowing that each was put there
lovingly
by time caressed in a cocoons nest.
danced with time, laden with metamorphosis
and fruitful bliss bearing an entangled chrysalis
engulfed out of the need
to grow. birth. reborn.
in a next lifetime.
i stepped on a butterfly.
killed its lighthearted dance from a low hanging branch
suckling the nectar off a fallen flower. how...
appropriate. nearly serendipitous if a love was to blow a kiss
and i was to miss it based on a fallen flower and Poincare
with its Chaos Theory held in time, ever revolutionary.
How this simple act
shaped its wind off the back of my heels, created movement in the
blanket of invisible air,
made a tornado, ravenous and unyielding without a care
gathering its strength moving from one continent to the next
seen as an entire global complex
All tiny and precarious actions, once secondary and of free will
now have the everlasting impression of a tattooed spirit
inked of scaled wings and a cheap thrill
and I question the chronological error to even mention if the eyes had ever seen
the brown skin, mahogany
lips full, heavily
did he ever came back
to
me?
because I stepped on a Monarch's wings.
-b.r.rivera-taylor
(To all the loves out there waiting in purgatory: to enter the past, you must be willing to know that this might bring future mistakes with love. If its love, set it free. If it flies back-it was meant to be. You cannot change the past and recreate the magic that once was; you can only live in the present, and hope for the future. Blessings.)
The Butterfly Effect.
images by commons wikimedia org.
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