The Butterfly
I am no longer a grasshopper
who used to live in a muddy native shore.
No matter how hard I tried to hop,
I couldn’t make it that high.
Now that I have my desired wings,
I can fly and fly without broken wings.
I danced happily for I’m wild and free,
but my colours vacillate on leaves.
This May, the cloud is rather gloomy,
the wind whipped every window in the galley,
the thunder grumbles now and then.
the weather is extremely cold,
and so my flowers are dying this spring.
Whilst hiding and trembling,
I smell something terribly strong.
Regardless how far I am,
it doesn’t smells desirable
but that makes me too curious.
So I fly really quickly,
I fly up high against the dark-volt sky.
Suddenly, I’m trapped on this spider web,
I could barely move my body
but so stubborn and curious I am.
Now I see two opposite-narrow roads,
both have something red in them,
So I inspect them thoroughly,
Should I go this way with thousands folds of roses?
Or this way to unfold whose blood that stinks in my kind?
Copyright @2013 Lanzskie. All rights reserved.
- A Poem: The Weather
Not a thunderstorm. Not a typhoon. I'm hiking in the hill. Alone, with bread, a toast. 'The cold is awful' I shiver, and quiver at my fingers tip. Gesticulate like a tree. And it's extremely hurt. Though I’m depressed. I smile and wave. This, is my t - A Poem: The Impossible Dream
I woke up early and in a blue the morning. Spreading both hands and a big yawn. And I ate crakes with milk. At first I thought everything was a dream. I realised I wasn’t. I am living on my dreams. - A Poem: The Dream
At 19, I had a dream. There’s two-way roads. Mysterious. Silent. Other with deafening sounds. I turned my torch on. Observing things around. Where am I? It’s midnight. I’m nowhere to find.
