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The Trap Of Love
The sky is clear,
dry and hot.
Breezeless cream.
The tower gleaming mirror white in the too bright sun,
pointing to the day begun.
High flaps the butterfly.
Wrapped in yellow on it's course,
floating to the distant city.
Warm, and full of pretty thoughts.
The net will catch it from above.
The trap of love.
Passers by gaze
through the stark rays.
Dust wells and blows.
Sand flows around them,
on their skin,
through and within.
While up above, a rose.
The tower grows, to touch,
to form the net above.
The trap of love.
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