GentleMouse

I catch the white butterfly As it falls gently from the sky Its wings wither and crack Sitting there blank I wonder How is this the end of all When in the end I’ve gone asunder Then Summer breaks to Fall More of their tattered wings come And as they close in on the frozen Earth They catch fire and all is done I guess it’s better than a re-birth As I listen to the broken songs Songs of long lost photographs They spin effortlessly around my head Broken shards pulse through me; I’d rather be dead “But I guess I can’t be more than I already am.”