I live with snippets of poetry
A hook, a verse, a turn of phrase
Catching on the subtleties of my mind
And music will not let me escape
The forceful grasp of its metered time
Each day becomes frustration,
Trying to snatch in fleeting infinitesimalities
A fragile butterfly
That swiftly, swiftly dashes itself
Against my limitations, shattering
Into a rain of crystal tears
And lost ideas.
Look upon these thousand
Tiny death, and if you weep,
Understand the weight upon my soul
For every butterfly alights upon
My trembling hand, a constellation more
I cannot have–they are not mine to keep
So if at times I may seem mired
Deep in contemplation, half asleep
Recall that I am wandering
Lost inside my mindscape,
Desperately gathering delicate allusions
Saving glass-made butterflies
Under photographic skies.

~~Jason Y. Sproul

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