You were innocent and flying high when he first became
enthralled by your purity, unattainable beauty.
He sought to have just a little of all that you called yours,
He reached out so as to hold you, touched your delicate wings,
And in doing so his greed tainted you beyond repair.

Eager he was to watch you, disappointed when you fell,
Frustrated when he could not repair your damaged wings.
Your naivety made you vulnerable, an invitation to protect you,
And still he tried to heal you with his bumbling wounding hands.

He wished he had not the selfish desire to hold you till the end of time.
But he saw you ailing, saw you pining, realised you were slowly dying.
You needed to fly once more, so he made up his mind to set you free,
Pushed you out his window, in naïve hope that you would soar.

But you didn’t fly away, my pretty wounded butterfly,
You fell down, your wings burning away.
You tried so hard to soar, but had been forced to forget how,
When your innocence was tainted with poisoned love.
I still hear your pitched scream echo in my ears…