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| butterfly exhausts its fragile beauty in the box,
lid shut tight to mask the frantic sound of veins that break and burst endlessly unfree in the drum of tiny tortured heartbeats that can feel the breathing of a living forest on the other side of walls that cannot be breached, skies and rivers that cannot be reached, no matter how it breaks and beats bright song in self-serving captive air. colours mute and bleed into the dark, still there but quiet and unseen, the scent of leaves and stars denied, the dew of dawn untasted, the touch of otherwings and sun a million miles away in far trees and the echo of wild mountain flight. mosaic youthful flutters weaken trembling into everstill, calling to the soul of death before life could begin. |