My memories flutter through the sky like butterflies,
They die one by one, shredded as easily as paper—
Their colors are all that remain now; violet,
Indigo, and scarlet paintings resting on a stone walkway.
I watch one by one all my memories die,
Chapters of my life turning into vapor,
I never thought my life would come down to butterflies
Fluttering, fluttering though the sky.
You are just one, beating your wings,
When you die the rest shall survive—
Beating, beating their fragile limbs.
DannYetmanhttp://yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com/
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