It was a weary autumn night,
Fruitless trees were rustling
Complaints of undermined might,
A chill wind was blowing
Under the illuminated sky, lighted
By a place far from sight, close in mind;
“It could almost be daylight,”
She said, for we stood together,
And although we both knew
It was true
Of this lonesome autumn night,
I was silent, she was still;
I spoke, “If daylight it is,
Then let us enjoy it,”
A flash of black, she had turned
Towards me with a smile
Unfolding across her face
As a butterfly its wings;
Another blinding flash, she had turned,
Her face was sullen, as though in mourning,
She was in mourning over something
Many times I had asked her what this
Thing was, she would reply, when she did,
Filled with things that never were,”
So I said to her, as if out of a memory,
“And never will be,
But as long as we are,
What do they matter?”
She smiled wanly
In acknowledgment, but we both knew nothing
Could be done;
So now it was my choice
To stay or leave her
While in solitude;
To leave would abandoning
All trust and commitment,
Built with labor and time,
But if I stayed, I could
Be nothing of a comfort,
Except to feel her pain more deeply;
“I’ll never abandon you,”
She sighed and we stayed in place,
It was a choice made long ago,
So together we stood, motionless, and
This bitter autumn night.
Both characters are reflections of myself.
The writing has a beautiful flow to it and it's wonderfully descriptive. Very nice piece.
Wow, bitter sweet brilliance I say... Most excellent work! Though, the last line of the third stanza has puzzled me a bite. Regardless, the poem is still great.
I was basically thinking of, well, a butterfly unfolding its wings (thank you Ms. Obvious). Self-comment aside, when I see this instance, it shows the hidden beauty. The outside of a butterfly is (usually) very bland, a brown or black earthy tone (unless it's a Monarch). However when it spreads its wings, a butterfly reveals this beautiful pattern which people wait to see and in certain butterflies resembles a smile (albeit a large one.) I am not sure if I actually thought about it this deeply when I wrote it, when I wrote it I was thinking of the image of a butterly slowly opening (spreading) its wings and how that could be related to a smile that slowly stretches out from nothing. The digression on beauty was considered but not pursued as a train of thought to the extent that it is now.
Indeed, but without their wings they're just another ugly bug... Some suckers are lucky, and some aren't. I do adore the irony in that.
Not all bugs are ugly, just some. And just because some bugs, like worms (to me) or rolli-pollis, are ugly it doesn't detract from how much they are liked. But yes, those that are adored are lucky for the reasns they are adored. However, I don't think that any bug, no matter how beautiful, would be adored if it were also vicious and deadly. Maybe I could be wrong, at least I am by many proverbs and story devices.