Conquest
to conquer to
win the cold wind blows
whispers
threats danger lurks the light fades
so you say you
won but what was the prize
you open your
hand the butterfly takes flight your hand remains empty
the breast of your
coat covered with shiny metals you are alone
the cold
wind finds entry beneath the door the fire in the hearth
spits and
spatters put on another log winter comes early this year
September 1, 2016
6 comments:
You have drawn the mood in this poem to perfection. The image of the butterfly being released, the empty hand remaining, the cold coming under the door...winter coming early......A gorgeous poem, Annell. One of my faves.
"you are alone" seems to be the prize of conquests...so many nice images here...
Perfect questions! And the empty hands along with the medal-laden chest makes the empty lonely cold echo.
you open your hand the butterfly takes flight your hand remains empty
..love that
Those metal buttons feel cold against the butterfly wings.. I suppose it is hard to keep a butterfly in our hands. I wonder if that is conquest or release..
I love it!
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