I Was Chasing the Butterfly

"Do you think dreams grow weary too?"

My sneakers run across the dandelions

My fingers outstretched 

Dancing with the air between the elusive butterfly 

That swerves and twists from me

I remember when I was just a child

I would close my eyes and see my life before me

Oh, the dreams I had

I’d do everything I could

I’d be so beautiful 

Like the butterfly

Dancing with the air 

Making thin pirouettes between the fingers of man and flower alike

I was eight years old listening to my dreams

If only they’d lasted as long as the pain

And yet there my mother and father stood

Yelling

Always yelling at one another

And in the morning my mother would pull me aside

And say you’re welcome for the favor

So I’d close my eyes and picture that butterfly

That creature of changing colors

Her wings were in the shape of my heart

Slightly bent and crooked

As if someone had tried to save it

But their fingers were clumsy 

And they didn’t know what the word saving means

But that beautiful humming song

I’d chase it for hours on end

It never stayed in one place for long

Stumbling from the tips of my painted fingers

Back on the edge of the dog house

Fluttering through the cool Summer breeze

It’s followed me everywhere I’ve ever gone

I’d let the goats out from their cages

And there the butterfly’d be to warn little ol me

They’re on the run

Those stumbling bitter goats

And soon that is what my dreams became

I was chasing the butterfly

But somewhere along the line

The little dream died

And I was left to chase the goats

With their crooked teeth and their Saturday dreams

I’d grab my dreams by the horns

They’d kick

And they’d gloat

And they’d scream

The soft hands I’d had since childhood now sat calloused and tired

Bruised by the nature of these stumbling and crooked dreams

Just like the butterfly

Those bitter goats would not stay still

I’d cage them in and tell them not to leave

But in the morning there a still body would be

I’d bury a dream and mourn a little piece of me

And then it was back to chasing the goats with a shovel

I thought dreams were sandcastles and butterflies on the tips of your fingers

Perhaps not

Perhaps to live in a home like that

Where your mother is mean and your father is nowhere to be seen

The dreams try their best to be beautiful

But just like you

They grow tired

And soon they reflect you

Perhaps I too, am bitter and stumbling like those dreaded goats

Escaping from my cage every chance I get to breath in the fresh air

But is it freedom if I trot right back into my cage?

I didn’t think so

Reviews

[Gabriel]

This is so heart wrenching! It takes you through what it's like to steadily lose your childhood to someone who can't remember what childhood was like. It's got beautiful themes and God, the metaphor about the goats, it just pulls together really nicely and gets you thinking about a lot of things. A truly beautiful piece about the steady death of childhood wonder.