Whispers from the Flames

A little butterfly flutters
Its dark wings kissed by the moon’s
Pale lips
So softly as a dream,
But the fire calls you back
From the dark.

A flicker that dances, a whisper
And a silent cry.

In a garden of shadows,
A man sways in pain.
As he burns
They realise
That this fragile creature,
Is a child too lost to return.

Flames lick the chilly midnight air,
Turning it red as the dusk,
To keep chasing
The glow of a Souls last cry.

What a reckless, unjust end.

The black butterfly’s wings
Beat slower and the night grows cold,

Caught between the truth and stories untold.
A spark in the dark, a brief flick of hope
Then silence settles and no one left to care.

The fire flickers out,
But the ashes remain,
And a butterfly’s song
Now soft but bitter as my pain.