Spray paint the canvas of the night sky;
the red reflections in my eyes,
silently swallows up a thought,
to save a piece of mind.

So in my waking dream, I navigate
this intricate minefield of love’s emotions,
that all become so probable,
after calling you mine.

Friday the 1st of August,2019 started with a
Little drizzle of rain but by one o'clock pm
Of that day -huge sheet of rain was falling
On everything in my sight, this
Droplets as little as they are, began to increase
In number and in no time began to carry everything
Not tied to the ground those tied down, they destroy
And carry the pieces, I could have sworn I heard their voice
Until the lapping of water drowns the voices.
Giving orders to each other as they go on doing what they do best
Under the sky finding their way back home to the ocean,
Sea or river of their choice. This August visitors have
Taking many lives and things worth millions in less than 24 hours.

If I pour out my emotions that I've been keeping under wraps for years
it will be as a tsunami engulfing, drowning the depths of your being
as a hurricane does eating up your happiness and spitting it right back at you but in pieces that can't be moulded back together
as a volcano erupting gorging itself on the kingdom with tall walls and soldiers that you built
it will be as an uprooted tree with nowhere to go but to fall to the ground and lay disruptively there
my suppressed, condensed and packaged emotions are just as a natural disaster
you can't predict how much damage it will cause.

Again the minor tune of the bickering begins,
Sitting stagnant in the air around,
Slowing sinking into the walls,
Clinging to the structure and sticking to the ground

A wet cloth on butterflies once so eager,
Now they sit dormant waiting to fly,
Knowing not if they will be called upon,
Just sitting waiting to die

Bitterness flows through the air again,
Replacing something once so sweet,
Oh how I used to cherish you,
In the days before our lens went bleak

We used to laugh so joyously,
Smiles dancing on our lips,
Before the fruit went sour,
Before disaster hit

These days love seems but a memory,
Drifting far from shore,
Back then I was so happy,
But now I pine for more

Trapped in the house of misery,
Softly I begin to cry,
Quietly I'm mourning,
The death of the butterflies.