Butterfly Fire

What pure work of the lightening is there to consume?

So many diamonds of such endless spume. Against all wakefulness, enveloped so much in flame that made we silence of the soul, the frame.

True hell and Beau's it is but death who change.
And after such vanities and so many strange lapses of hellish idleness I can embrace the homes of the dead.
We are at home with space.

Save in we the records of death of the dead. Powerfully, this bright emptiness and the ash, my shadow in that hour begins to pass.

My soul laid bare to fire of the solstice.
I cling to you, ye hell admirable justice.
Yes death, restore we to your pristine white
that you may see yourself, or does reflected light.

For me alone
To me, the home
Betwixt the emptiness of the opaque occurrence.
I wait the echo of an inner power, of such a somber, sonorous, bitter reservoir.

Do you know the false captive of the foliage?

I laugh.

Such devourer of grills of narrow basement gauge.

O gulf, that on my closed eyes dazzling suns tell the secrets that my body dragged to dearth. What brows draw it to such bony daemonic earth?

A spark remembered the departed ones.
Closed secrets full of fire without aim.
Fragmented earth presents itself to the flame.
A spot that pleases we, so charged with waves of golden light, grayish darkness and stones and trees in roves.
Marble trembling under such long shadows. Now the sea in faith sleeps on my graves.

Hell hold off Idolater's bitch guardian,
while with solitude with a shepherd's smile.
Your dreams of vanity, our curious archangels. Well off since hidden here are those who die. Then the earth re-heats them, dries up their mystery.

Dark on its eminence, high motionless noon, thinks only of itself and not of us.
Well rounded head, ye flawless diadem.
I am the secret change you rest upon.

You have but me to keep your fears unspent. Your penitence, my misgivings, our constraint. These are the flaws in your enormous diamond. I have to your cause at long last come around.

Yes

In the nights weighed down the marble frieze.
A people indistinct as root of trees.
The high unbearable scream of tickled girls.
The eyes, the teeth, the moist deadly eyelash, that curls.
The lovely breasts which plays all with fire.
The blood which rushes to surrender lips in hell flood.
The deadly final gift.
The fingers which defends it.

All

Sink back to the earth, the game has ended.
Will you be singing when you've turned to spray?

No.

You too are porous.

Just go away.

Darkness is enstranging,
Like a beautiful mephistopheles motive.
Ferdine the false it could be,
or Lea the attentive

We walk toward aut evil.

We walk to sleep at home.

Goodbye,

Eyes shut.

Neck of the sun cut.

              Written by: Damola Olayiwola.