And when the butterflies returned, They fluttered down from Hidden caverns draped in verdant moss. Trailing dark tendrils of apocalyptic dusk, They settled on the fragrant grass, And like recessed memories,
Forgot.
And when the butterflies returned, They flapped their harlequin wings, Like Ashanti dancers in the wind, Clothed in Kente cloth, Alighting on graveyard moss, And like the faded wording on a wooden cross,
Forgot.
And when the butterflies returned, they skimmed like vibrant gems Across the sea, And gathered like scattered drops of multicolored rainΒ Β Across the fallowed fields, And rivers that had healed, And where manβs touch had once disfigured,
Now all forgot.
And so it is in life and death.
All that was once fire and depth Breaks from the body
Like falling wings and
We are left
Forgotten things,
Each new day reborn In glorious colors
Like a swarm of Monarchs across The yellow of the dawn