The Butterfly

A butterfly alighted upon a fragrant spring bloom,
And with sweetened kiss, the blossom did swoon
From the attentions of such radiant hued wings
With such pleasure that such adoration brings.
Yet the bloom must wilt under the realisation
That the butterfly knows no loyalty but visits
All its’ entrapping charms upon outward prerequisites.

The butterfly, while soft and adoring pretends,
Oft all the genteel gods offends
By visiting favour upon one and all
Heeding not the lone bloom’s call,
The passion of the bloom the gods must heed
And the bloom must be unconditionally freed
From the thrall this butterfly so carelessly did impose
And to which the bloom so unwittingly arose.
The butterfly will forever be crowned by demeaning dalliances
And will never know the joy of permanent alliances
Worshipful fealty tributes and protective care,
eternally chained to gossamer air.

Responses

2 comments so far.

1. The Phoenix says:

   whoa! of fleeting passions and scarred memories. this one reads like a black tribute!

2. Orpheus . says:

   More a statement of the modern condition. Omniscient narrator, archaic language and old fashioned moral sensibilities contrast well. Contradictions are found in my other works - irregular form, lack of a regular rhyme scheme or consistent meter all suggest worldliness and a lack of a broader personal design. Post-modernism creeps in, a slug in a rose garden, and allows some outright ideational expressions hitherto forbidden.