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gaia_angelleft // Butterfly Wings // gaia_angelright <br />
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Like the fragrant rivers that smell as roses do in springtime and the sun-kissed leaves which wade in summer waters with embraced colors near.<br />
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As the white of clouds, resembles dove dyed flowers and a noble notion of valor that remains strong and brilliant in fall showers,<br />
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There the morning air which sleeps in strange hostility and awakes with the need to soak in the vibrant hues of long lost tranquility and desire which has the winter cold thrown into old waves of new shattered hopes.<br />
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How do they flutter so beautifully and can they shine like the shards of those many.<br />
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Broken dreams which leave forgotten imprints in the map of the stone mind that draws all the fine indifferent lines which ghost the time.<br />
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Tracing the truly feared emotions of their objective hateful petals which adapt to gallant days.<br />
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With pain ebbing away the inner skin it holds, they carefully enfold and bathe the body in warmth.<br />
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In years to come again those wings do show, like the cocoons of those who were concealed with the reign of wavering age.