Lewis Carroll here I come...



shatterglass



glass shatters as the butterfly steeped in chaos theories beats against my window

with a strumming sound the lyrics of his song scraped against anomalies in my mind 



I have no strength 

But the child within me reaches to stroke the offers of the wings

which can never be more than wished 

like an apteral bird I weep at the sight of the creatures of flight



the urchin within speaks in rapid succession

up is down

black is white

and shades of grey are all I see through 

the orbs of the infant betwixt my heart and soul



though the shatterglass is still in pieces when the flutterby 

full of a sonnet’s melodies 

strokes the edges of my abused window

the lyric song ties everything in place, happily as the bright winged creature

floats on