I've watched a moth dream of butterfly's
and waited for her to wake -
the pale powdered wings
that grace her slender frame wishing in vain
for a color that I would never
have stain
the smooth thin silk I've watched flutter by
a thousand times,
and it seems sad that I can't say these things,
but it's better she stay asleep and think
of nothing,
but flowers and shinning summer days;
better she remain unharmed,
and forget the cars that keep to the concrete reality
of the nearby roads.
Better her fate be fake
then the windshield in front of me.














Comments
fabulous =]
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