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“Monarchs make beautiful corpses,”
she said to me.
After all these years spent,
I still don't know what
she meant...
Did she mean that love is a fragile thing,
like that of butterfly wings?
Was she talking about life
and finding peace in
one's cocoon?
Carefree dances upon
wind's currents.
Float without regret,
float without remorse.
My thoughts are in knots...
Whatever her meaning,
I'm looking differently
at spots on my windshield.
I've noticed
Monarchs do make beautiful corpses...
© Copyright 2008 MOO for President (UN: themilkman at Writing.Com).
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