I heard a song of the butterfly clear and loud
The shine of his wings and his jewel eyes held my gaze
My indigo blue butterfly,
who had sunshine bright yellow dots on his wings.
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Very interesting how you compared the destruction of the butterfly to tearing up pages of your poems. I liked that.
I thought this verse was really powerful:
Now, I keep trying to write and re-write my poetry.
scratching, cancelling, erasing my lines
Pages after pages get crumpled in my fist
My futile efforts to make my words concise,
My failure to bring back the old rhythm
My words deny me.
I was drawn to your poem in the first place because I have a poem with a similar title. It's called 'Butterfly of Death' and I invite you to read it. Thanks.
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Very interesting how you compared the destruction of the butterfly to tearing up pages of your poems. I liked that. I thought this verse was really powerful: Now, I keep trying to write and re-write my poetry. scratching, cancelling, erasing my lines Pages after pages get crumpled in my fist My futile efforts to make my words concise, My failure to bring back the old rhythm My words deny me. I was drawn to your poem in the first place because I have a poem with a similar title. It's called 'Butterfly of Death' and I invite you to read it. Thanks.