Even with the howl of the cold wind, and the warmth of smoke on my fingertips…I can still hear the train.

I have forgotten the confines of the day; there is nobody telling me what to do now. I can still barely hear footsteps intruding briefly, before fading away into silence.

Looking at the stars I observe galaxies; their brightness in the night sky an affirmation of my insignificance. Stars painted in the form of diamonds glittering upon black velvet, opening a door for Man’s existence with a glimmer of hope.

Sometimes I hear the train when it is not there. It is in my head, the sound resonating within tension without intent. Sometimes the footsteps are deafening.

Even in the cold as the wind blows loud…I can still hear the train…some days.

Is it butterflies?…this new feeling inside, or do they only flutter in the spring haze glow where the flowers are open…when the butterflies fly by?

And this face? Is it just the beauty of a green field growing wild with a rainbow smile at a break in the trees nearby…or is it happiness?

Are these bright flowers in a bunch my feelings today, as your company seems to make me say and your heart it seems has found a way…into my life?

It is my strife, to take a knife and cut away the madness to lessen the sadness I feel when you are not around. I miss you…as I hear the sound of butterflies in August.

Fluttering by, are these the reasons why I see your face in every place there are reflections?

And, the butterflies go by as the flowers comply doing as they are told with no resentment.

Is it warmth when I feel your mind, or is it the passion you seem to fashion when I press my lips upon your actions…taking away the nectar?

Is it the sun I use for direction when it lets me know you are the correction to my life?

And finally, I shall listen, and you will see as we agree the only sound that will be found is the sound of butterflies in August.

My retort is muted as the guillotine falls. Blunt arrows falling like excuses. A dream full of elixir turns into darkness…a nightmare.

One’s soul unresolved…a spirit upon the castle. A revolution of broken desires in an undesirable chasm.

After the king betrays the roots of his brood, darkness rises again in the form of a new moon.

The orange and spice resurrect a kingdom’s doom upon the sunset as the sunrise looms.

Apologies leave holes in the future like broken arrows remaining untold. Raise the gate and build the moat…an emotional insurrection floats to cope.

Standing your ground ‘til the sirens sound…speaking your ground…walking the grounds. Lives you’ve found….in the crowds unbound.

The screaming and shouting is cursed out loud although muted in one’s eyes…and silently as the guillotine falls.