Tear a paper butterfly,
Like the fragile memory that stained
Its wings.
Just as the lost memory of winter as the spring begins,
(You must understand its heart,
As if it was human.)
Understand the code (x's and o's),
That made it disappear as you chose.
Paint it blood-red
As if a child
With lips masked as poison.
For the canvas of life is marked,
With insanity's art.
And you can plead the doctor, "grow me a stronger heart of bone not flesh",
(But winter can not last forever and neither can spring stay eternally fresh
For the mark each makes is unmistakeable.)
But you cried that a heart should not be breakable.
The doctor simply replied "weakness only makes you stronger
And this starts now, you can't wait any longer."
He continued to assure, it would be ok.
Like the ice is scared of the sun
But prays for its return.
For even the ice is cold and lonely,
its sculptured character was only
fake after all...
So fold the butterfly that holds springs return,
The paper is fragile like love.
But on its wings stain the words in the memory of winter,
"I miss you"
>This poem means more than whats on the surface, it is not a jumble of words.
