Flightless Butterfly In A Field Of Red
It was a haze. Blood lust coloring the eye's view red. Weapons in hand, war in heart and chaos in the land. Sounds of metal clanging on metal, of metal sinking into warm flesh turning cold soon. Taste of metal filling the mouth. Screams rending the air without a gap. Hooves thudding on blood soaked plains. Surrounded by people on all sides, whirling like a tornado from hell, severing limbs, maniacal laughter the last thing they hear. So lost in the mayhem, unknowing who the enemy is anymore. Like a wild beast let loose, swallowed by jaws of hatred, falling prey to base inhumanity, pleasure driven by blood. And in the madness, amidst the hordes of frenzy driven banes, amidst the cesspool of beings barely human, in a moment of absolute purity, an inaudible flutter of colorful wings. Landing on a flower on the verge of death, trodden, soaked in the blood shed by falling soldiers. Time freezes for that moment and it's no longer a haze. It is a moment of complete clarity, transfixing , and war and hatred, people and problems are forgotten between the wings beating.
Blades come swishing down along with the fangs of war, flower and butterfly, both cut down. Disorientation, as the scene registers in clouded eyes, slowly unfogging. Such devastation, knocked to knees, dismal sobs tearing through the throat, pain, pain, pain. Pain, not of the physical kind, pain savagely piercing the heart. How pointless, the lives lost, lives gone, lives of memories of thousands of days, vanishing in the glint of metal in seconds, before wings are unfurled to fly.
Won the war, but lost your humanity. King of ravaged lands, burial grounds, Lord of burning lives, with a crown of curses, cloaked in misery on a throne of half lived, stolen dreams. Searching for a colorful miracle in a palace dyed red, unknowing that your wings have been taken, writhing, drawn into the quagmire of sunken dreams, flightless butterfly in a field of red.