Subtle As A Butterflies Wings
Quiet as the wind in the still night
Insignificant as a mere ant
We live our lives as such
Never will our truest self be opened
Being closed to the world
Like the measly ant we are to the worl
Squashed under the thumb of a child
Life may be precious to us
But can be taken just like that
Unnoticed to others though
Our dying is a grave
Another stone with millions of others
Noone cares, we are insignificant.
