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
