She knew of distant things,
forgotten things,
those relics of the past;
like holding hands
on moonlit nights,
those tomorrows
never seen.
Promises he did not keep,
hopes gone unfulfilled,
locked behind impassive eyes--
he was
no answer to her dreams.
The saddest thing this man shall know,
if his heart still dares to beat:
That he had killed the butterflies,
that fluttered at her feet.
03/01/09 Note: Of all the poems I've ever written, This was the hardest to write, and to admit.
In a list
A Shocking Tale Of Horror!
Comments
1 - 17 of 17
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I remember the butterflies landing on the feet...
I liked this poem of yours, it has feelings, visual, even when only some people can see what you show, and isn't melodramatic, just show sadness but in an acceptable way (the non acceptable way would be those poems where the author wants to squeeze tears of the words) ...drifting away...
yes, this is a very good poem
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I still like this poem. It still hurts to read it but as a poem, I like it...except the line:
"if his heart still dares to beat:"
Which is sort of kitschy like those poems you alluded to. You are a master at writing hurts that are real, but not trite, and not for an easy tear...I'm sure I learned from you, as well as from other writers great and small.
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A touching tale of Sorrow ...
I just love these kind of mornings ... when the mind senses the feelings that would produce such a beautiful poem such as this one! A horror of sorrow and yet a sincerity that is not often found unless one has felt the same. You are to be applauded for that sensitive side of sharing.
j y
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I hurt someone, was a hard thing to admit or accept. Caring for someone and inadvertently hurting them is not a fun thing. So the poem was born.Thanks again for stopping by.
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I would have commented if I read this before. Don't know why the butterflies seemed familiar.
Raw emotion in the words. I can feel the pain.
So incredibly sad when we're hit with the realization that it's just not going to work and then blaming ourselves, enumerating our faults and transgressions, what we have done to cause and deserve such a fate.
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I've written two or three others about butterflies.
It's still tough to think about, even though the feelings are long over, still the guilt exists. Ah well, I'll fix it in my next life.
But that was then, this is now.
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I'm the queen of guilt, tell me about it. We, Irish Catholics do it best. Still figuring the hows and whys of that.
I was told my present life is already making up for some past ones. It actually makes sense to me in a way. -
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But yes, from what I know about you, I can see you holding onto guilt, even that which isn't yours to hold. I have another friend like that. She sees everything as her fault and yet when she explains the situation, I see she is guilty of little if anything. I have a feeling that is you too.
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Something I'm working on...letting that stuff go. It serves no useful purpose. My older wiser brother tells me it's not a guilt trip if you don't accept it as such. He's right. Maintaining that mindset helps deflect some of it but little pieces still manage to seep through the forcefield.
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It makes sense if we had more than one life.
Sorry, it's hard being the lone cynic in the house.
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This is actually about my twelvth trip around. I'm an old soul. You must be brand new
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12th wow. Who were you before?
I'll just sit back and wait...this should be good.
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I wasn't Cleopatra if that's what you're anticipating. lol
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I was thinking Eve.
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You would. Now I'm not telling you
anything.
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Genghis Khan?
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You think I was a man? You were in
better favor when you suggested Eve.
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