grey-butterfly

The little grey butterfly

The little grey butterfly wandering in the night
saw a bright, gleaming light
and directed itself, singing merely:
“Towards this Sun I shall fly,
This God shall be mine!
With my wings I will caress Him,
With His tender light he’ll make me shine
- Oh, Love is so grand, and He is divine!”
But it was no sun and no god
that shone in the night,
only a feeble candle,
sparkling proudly in the dark.
Happy was the little creature,
dazzled by the light
- it had no clue of its own value,
little as it might seem,
for within the delicate nerves
that went through its obscure little wings
there was Life to be found,
whilst in the gleam of the candle
only craftsmanship can be seen
- all glitter, no gold,
all fire, yet so cold!
It was full of dreams and desires,
the small anonymous thing,
whilst directing its flight
towards the cruel sparkling!
It mistook the candle’s innate twinklings
for amorous signs
and love’s own meddlings.
Poor petite creature,
so silly in its bliss,
never understood it was on fire,
thought it was His passionate kiss
- and in its final hour
blamed itself for not having the might
to endure this God’s ardent feelings,
crying with grief
of how it had let Him down,
instead of seeing the light
for what it really was:
a mere imitation
of the Sun and the real Gods.

               

Yet many a time
I sit and wonder,
if the naïve, little Being
the truth would have known,
wouldn’t have she still loved
that cold heart carved in stone?