Dragonfly’s Wings


K. Barratt

 Once I thought my heart was strong,

But it’s made of dragonfly’s wings,

Beautifully, delicately, ethereally weak.

I guess that is why I weep so easily.

Why beauty tears me up, why loving

Fully seems to be the only way for me,

With my transparent, crystal clear,

Papery heart, unable to see the shadows

As it only reflects the light, and when happy,

It flutters and flies, high. Oh, so high.

So like dancing over water, waltzing amid the

Reeds, tango among the flowers, my delicate

Heart, who learns nothing from the scars on

Its drangofly-wing skin.

It brakes so easily, my dragonfly’s wing heart.

And like dragonflies, it seems to die

Suddenly, live for a couple of days and then

Fall to the void of disappointment and disillusion.

And each death hurts so deeply. It leaves a raw,

Gaping wound that seems impossible to heal.

Until it does.

And with the dawn my heart emerges

Once more from the cenotaph of pain,

Unafraid to go and love

And trust and soar,

High, to the cupules of the cathedral

Of willows, sighing by the road.

And it gives itself completely,

Each time,

My, oh so stubborn, heart.

Learning nothing from the scars.

Refusing to let them dictate its life,

For my brave heart will embrace

An eternity of deaths any day,

Over a life time of happy endings,

Where it’s not allowed to be its true, whole self.

My heart is made of dragonfly’s wings

And that makes it splendid

And sturdy, with willful might,

Each day ready to love back the world,

And make it beautiful,

Through its sparkling, rainbow eyes.


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