butterflies

i lie in bed and my world is awhirl,
i think, and think, as i am lying…
i look at the small world i had and have,
i see, and see, and watch it dying;

these are the loves i had, all gone,
that was my family, the very few i had,
and each of them had to die, they did –
but their leaving still keeps me sad.

i remember the books i read, nights and days,
as a child, when i ran after butterflies,
i think it becomes so fucking sad to know
that most of this world is based on lies;

it says i am old now, even the lovers,
who come to seek my body out at my door;
but like all life it does not feel old inside,
I still feel the butterflies and so much more!

time has passed, and time will pass, as it has,
every poet i studied warned it must be so,
now i have seen lies and death up close,
i never chose to know them, but now i know…

i recognise the lies, i made peace with death;
but my world’s butterflies still fly and fly,
so, i’ll think my world a merry go around,
and since i am yet alive, ill try and try.