Inside The Butterfly Jar

Inside The Butterfly Jar

 

Who am I to confess my sorrows, when there is no one left to care?
My soul feels like a butterfly, trapped in a childs jar.
Though the beauty may still exist, I am suffocating.

I can feel my wings tapping on the glass walls
Knowing on the other side, only silence exists.
Time and existence seem to have lost their meaning.

Emotions, which at one time defined who I am are now merely shadows.
The smile on my porcelain mask denies my pain.
While I am drowning in the sands of an hourglass.

When will the mercy of the reaper, 
Place the last grain of sand
Then finally release my soul to the wind?

© 2007 Brian K. Walters

 

Reviews

[...]

Very sad reflection of human life. Are we not all butterfyles catched behind the glass or even on the pin of some mad collector. I feel your poem goes beyond the human sadness. There is question who we really are . Is our freedom in our death when soul will levitate into ether or is just worst stage of the life on the end. Ilike it very much.