Young
A field in my mind
In the distance, a golden sunrise
Along the horizon, they dance

Wings so delicate
They float on the breeze
Racing and gliding, they follow whispers from the trees

A variety of colors, all of them once so vivid
Now slowly fading away
knowing I cannot long stay
I reach and I reach
but they’re not mine to keep
In my hands, there are only moths

My clock it keeps ticking
The sand it keeps rolling
The farther they’re going away

No anticipation
aspiration
motivation too
my imagination took them and flew
leaving me thoughtlessly tied to the ground

I stare now at grey surroundings
day after day after day
they say this is nothing new
This is something I will get used to

Old
I belong to the monotony
But in my gut, there’s a mutiny
I just can’t ignore
The butterflies don’t visit me anymore.