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A wounded butterfly

A wounded butterfly flutter
enter my broken window
and bled in silence

its flight began
on top the of
shaking
screaming palms

took it to a land
where the corpses of babies burned
black like dates
on sand


it flew
past a young women
falling
screaming
trying to take off
her bleeding torn socks

and lay down on night's thigh
for a moment
crying as dying
poured cold coffee
on her weeping


it flew from me
with a cloak of sadness
to cover
her naked body
a torn violin
to play slow death tunes






Author notes


Written October 13th, 2003

A contest entry

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    I plan to revise this poem: please leave constructive criticism!
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Comments

1 - 10 of 10
  • philophant
    December 16, 2003
    Edit | Reply
    i agree with the critiques...this is a highly styalized piece. freeverse poetry should be so beautiful because the ideal is to speak from the heart, without impending verse or rhyme. unfortunately, there is alot of bad free verse. here, however you reach the ideal of free verse. very good. this poem would be lovely in arabic


  • October 30, 2003
    Edit | Reply
    Amazing.. like walking over shattered glass in rain..i like it!


  • mona
    October 23, 2003
    Edit | Reply
    thanks Danna


  • Danna Hobart
    October 23, 2003
    Edit | Reply
    ...as the one winged butterfly
    endeavors to take flight
    the blue bleeds from the sky
    leaving it a ghostly white.

    Your imagery is powerful and sharp, Mona. I love your style. Always leaves me with a vivid picture in my head.

  • mona
    October 20, 2003
    Edit | Reply
    Thanks rosebud

  • rosebud
    October 20, 2003
    Edit | Reply

    it flew from me//
    with a cloak of sadness //
    to cover//
    her naked body//
    a torn violin//
    to play slow death tunes //
    especially the last stanza....wonderful write...


  • mona
    October 18, 2003
    Edit | Reply
    Myra thanks The butterfly was flying in Iraq seeying all kind of chaos telling sad stories


  • myrataal silver member
    October 18, 2003
    Edit | Reply
    It is like seeing the stillborn taken away from the mother; the mother becoming the Earth, mourning her dead children - this wounded butterfly; the broken window; the torn violin ... all added up to compose an astonishing poem about mortality and the fragile man.

    A psychological shock, yes: how sadly beautiful a dying butterfly ...

    Love.

    Myra
    Edited on Oct 18, 8:18 because ''.

  • mona
    October 17, 2003
    Edit | Reply
    thanks Frozen Fears i am glad ya liked it


  • Frozen Fears
    October 16, 2003
    Edit | Reply
    God... im shocked.. I really liked this alot.. you have me speechless... this.. this was astounding.. i like this alot.. Good luck..

    ~*~Frozen~*~Fears~*~

1 - 10 of 10