#81 (fragile tiny flutterlings)

photo credit: Matthias Geh

silver threads

fell out his face

his eyes

were red


wild horses

rode along his spine

sly beetles bit

his heart


to the dark embrace

of heavy dreams

he lied

in slumber’s swamp

and resting

on his chest

there was

a cup of finest



in some dreamish glories

his feet were twitching idly

and in between

two shallow breaths

a butterfly so lightly

like early morning’s finest ray

it flew into the white

within that finest

smooth embrace

it fluttered and

then died


threw his rosy veil

and soon

said hero’s eyes awoke

the dusty cup it fell

and broke

within the dust

some trace of gold

two silken wings

the story told

of queens and kings

and fragile

tiny flutterlings

9th December 2016


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