When you were young,
your mother told you stories of a different world:
one where people could be heroes,
where there was always hope,
and butterflies could dance in light of the moon.
A place where we still love each other.
Those butterflies, those silver nights,
they're long gone now,
lost to the colorful deceptive mirror of the past.
They mean nothing to you,
anymore.
They're only stories, you said.
But I remember, they're more than that.
You danced with moonbeams once,
you and I, and the spell remains.
Twisting argent words
followed in our footsteps,
tracing our voices,
echoing in our souls.
Those unearthly butterflies will last forever,
twirling and arcing in the light of the moon,
where mothers can promise their children better things.
And we will be proof.
Author notes
This is inspired by the 3rd picture (3rd option).
Wow, it's been a long time since I've written any serious poetry and longer since I've posted anything on AP... This was a cool prompt to use to start again, though. I really have nothing else to say, which is unusual. I hope you enjoyed my poem!
A contest entry
- Options and Options and Guess What More Options! by neoladyem.
550 points, ended March 1, 2008, 25 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Honesty is appreciated!
Comments
-
This is grand to read and so beatiful with magical words spoken. You topic is wonderful as your use of the picture.
Adding your comment:
