Fading butterflies

open up that jar.
blow into the ashes
to watch how gloom departs.

do not cling to firebrands.
those flying embers burn.
open up that jar.

do not gather ashes.
if you’ve done,
blow into the ashes.

it is dust. it is us.
allow the fall to the ground
to watch how gloom departs.

but the jar holds my story,
my untold tales of shining glory
before my eyes would my history depart.

the tale about my first love
how fluttering my first kiss was
but the jar holds my story

i would blow into the wind
with the promise they’d morph into fireflies;
my untold tales of shining glory

but if they would phase with the wind,
fizzle and disappear
before my eyes would my history depart.

Hybrid & Əĺļə