Leeann Josephine Redabaugh 12th Creative Writing period 3
October 3, 2012 Free Verse Poem
The butterfly, trapped in the jar,
Unintentionally wounding its delicate body,
Its wings beating uselessly against the glass.
It is so distant. So far away. So very, very far…
The faerie dust falls from its wings and floats, swirling,
To the bottom of the jar, creating a fine, sparkling sediment.
The butterfly floats above itself, observing as if
So, so very far away….
An endless stream of painfully loud, bright, meaningless questions bombarding,
Bouncing violently against the walls of your skull
What is your gender by birth? What is the gender of your soul?
Do you believe in the existence of the eternal soul?
Do you believe in Christ and accept him to save your soul from hell?
Do you expect hell to be hot or cold?
Can one know the world with one's senses?
There is no purpose.
A dark, cold, empty void. Devoid of all meaning.
Devoid of all hope, all light, all goodness
The void is the beginning of all things, the end of all things.
The return to the eternal return,
An endless, inescapable cycle,
And full of fear.