Dark clouds congregate across the sky
Of crystal blue, where a fragile butterfly
Attempts to soar high with golden wings
For vain hope, swirling and flitting in the wind.
Above the clouds twenty sheep solemnly stand,
Proud their mien, regal even, like the ministers
Heralding demise, those from that mysterious land
Of decay and despair, tolling the bells of disaster.
The sound is slow and heavy, pulsating like heartbeats
Which blindly run through the threads of creation
And end with a knit of mighty necessity, leaving
Visages pale, wings broken and hearts drown in emotion.
The faerie butterfly, beholding the upcoming abyss,
Calmly accepts her destiny, and begins to dream
The sweetest dream she could ever conceive,
A dream of blooming flowers dancing,
Of music flowing, infants smiling,
Of moonlight shining, suns rising,
Of Garden of Eden endowed with original beauty,
Everything joyfully living.
Fear dissipates in the reverie of hope,
And bells seem to cease for its sake, idling
Away the hours of their noonday, considering
The possibility of a starlit night, though fleeting,
With the most astonishing display
Of butterfly dance, which can illuminate
Even the darkest dale in the universe.
The flood of light effuses from the sky.