Butterflies

The possibility of turning back the clock

to take back words that were said,

to erase all the pain,

and to make everything whole, again

is too good to be true.

 

But if it were,

a warning would go out,

and the butterflies would live in splendor,

not in fear of being trampled and crushed.

Their beauty could be preserved,

and The One will see them as they were,

untouched and unbroken.

 

But as it is impossible,

there are still corpses of butterflies

that lie in the silent aftermath.

The burning pit allows only pain to be felt,

and there, burning with the happiness,

is an empty cocoon that was once their protector.

 

Now, misery is not the ruler.

It cannot prevent love for long

for love is strength and power,

and pain makes love stronger

so it will never be hurt like this again.

 

Soon, the butterflies will be revived,

and the burning pit will be extinguished.

So that what is left

is strength.

So I wrote this poem for my AP English Literature class, and poured my heart into it. I almost started crying when I was writing it and editing it, but what makes me feel awful is that I got a 78 on it for not using good enough literary devices and not having a fantastic rational (I didn’t exactly want to specify why I wrote my poem about dead butterflies and heartbreak!). If my  poem was good enough to be shown to the class anynomsly in his “great” and “impressive” group then shouldn’t I have gotten a better grade? It just kind of pisses me off, you know?

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