Sunday, February 24, 2008


Fine Beast isn't she? Yes, I see
the way your eyes gleam. You have
A good eye Sir! Fitting for thee;

Just look at her tiny fangs
tipped with poison;
One bite is enough
to forever immobilise
her prey.

Yes Sir, her prey!
Which she hunts so dear,
which never fights back
until regrets and guilt combined
force it at last
to find again the lost time
Spent while running with her
on these feet, strong and quick
chasing after Dreams, those butterflies
that elude us each time.

Ah! I see you asking
why her eyes lie so closed
She needs them not, good Sir
to see the bugs of Reality
creeping in.
Her claws are but enough
to twist the truth from limb to limb
and carry Reason away;
Stolen each time from her prey
At moments and at whim.

Just food for the Beast, these bugs,
Food from which she weaves
Webs and nets while we lie asleep
To catch those Butterflies, to catch them;
Tiny fireflies, each a lightbulb
around our heads, while we sleep
Unknowing, uncaring, till the dogs of day
reach us once again.

Fine Beast isn't she? Just for you--
Oh I see, I'm sorry sir
I see you have one too.

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