A broche of butterflies

I never did notice

Deaths gape advancing…

Peeking at, me.

Until, I was watching him.

 

I’d seen him in the closet

In a broche of butterflies

I crumpled in my pocket.

 

I’d seen him in the dark eyes,

Of a roadside, rabbit

With tyre print fur…

And a broken jaw socket.

 

It’s only now I’ve noticed Death.

"That he’s been playing-

All along, hide and seek".

 

Did, I think to ask of him?

To count backwards,

Sure enough, I did but

He’ll cheat, and I’ll be found…

 

Like a broche butterfly crumpled

In his childlike, large, pocket.

 

Reviews

[Lydia Shutter]

This one strummed the strings of my heart, Mark. Poor butterflies being stalked. Good metaphor and excellent imagery. Lydi**

[Mark Heathcote]

Thanks again (((Lydi)))

[Joyce S. Greene]

Your images are striking, Mark. I could see the small creatures you described and felt empathy for them and for the speaker. Excellent poetry! Joyce

[Frieda P]

Tugs at the heartstrings, an awe inspiring read, very affecting....that last stanza is killer, I have a special nook in my heart for butterflies...

[Robbie~xoxo~]

What dark theatrics linger in this fabulous write!! I felt the danger... a prey being stalked and hunted down...with little time to realize they were a "goner" all along...
A haunting write, Mark!~xoxo~

[Mark Heathcote]

I used an image of a memory a dead butterfly in a closet a wardrobe to capture my first thoughts of death. The disappointment when this jewelled creature fell apart in my hands. Thanks for the review my friend in poetry.

[Robbie~xoxo~]

You have captured the beauty of it's death here... Well done!

[david r. lessard]

Death is always a beckoning figure lurking in the shadows. Nice write!

[Mark Heathcote]

Thanks David :)