Death of the Butterfly

Butterflies bright in the stomach dancing
Eloquently their mating wing-hues splendid.
Suddenly all dead. Face-up and leaving
Only these bee stings in my heart's beating
Hope ground-up amorphous and teardrops dried
No is a wound healed only by time's sieve.

That negatory was a serrated blade indeed
Not designed to kill, but to cause searing pain.
Feigned smile outside; while the inside bleed.
Cloudless sky outside, while the mind sips rain.
Even with seven billion souls glitter under sun.
All forgotten, made hopeless, just by one.

Wren

Next poem:Coffee
Last poem: Vacance Dream

Note: One of the poems I wrote earlier in February-ish, but never had time to upload.