THE COLORLESS BUTTERFLIES

We were very happy,

flying in the quiet night,

around the kindness moon,

our colors were our pride,

the pride that gave us the smile,

the smile that gave us breath,

the breath that allowed us to jump

jumping onto the poor blossoming flowers

and arise them with hope.

But now the sun is arising with worse,

explosing it's angry rays as fire arrows,

drying the water to desert,

drying the flowers to drought,

drying the eyes to nerds,

drying the lips to wordless,

even drying the skins to colorless!

I wonder; what kind of sun is this?!

 

This poem is about: 
Our world
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