These scattered houses of white,
lit in tiny flames at night,
adorned by flowers of all kind,
swarmed by pretty little butterflies.
Colorful wings fluttered
as they flew and hovered
'round trees and rivers.
Oh, what a sight!
How I wish you could
join them in their merry flight.
Your wings would've shone so bright;
seeing these beauties
often blurred my eyesight.
Wishful thinking, wistful thoughts;
I struggled to fight all through days and nights.
Oh, but darling,
my sweet, little butterfly.
My heart ached to see you fly,
instead of being inside
one of these scattered houses of white.
Lit in tiny flames at night,
adorned by flowers of all kind.
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YOU ARE READING
Spilled Ink
PoetryA piece of soul in ink, and unto the paper it spilled. A collection of thoughts that rhyme from a wandering mind.
