Who told the prisoners that they could run with their chains and be free? Who told the puppets that they could move without the puppeteer? Who told the heart that it couldn't feel love? Who told..........

I saw her like you see a butterfly
carrying on her wings the scent
of promises born where the wind
is born, and you think to say,
something,
and suddenly you have no voice;
what could you say to that creature
that filled your eyes with a wonder
you never has seen before?
And now…
a empty heart like a withered
flower which everybody can see
on the hay chest of the scarecrow,
with arms extended like he’s asking
why you?
why now?
When the abandoned fields are barren,
why come suddenly here
when of tears is a drought…
but then I couldn’t say anything,
because she heard it
many times before,
all those promises in a garden
of paper roses
but with real thorns.
After saying a sunny day “I do”
believing with all her heart,
that so little words one day
could,
became the strongest link
on a prisoner’s chain
which dreams to be free…
That butterfly will be no more,
as she’s firmly chained
to a promise
that’s getting heavier
as we get old…
If goodbyes can be sealed
with only a tender kiss…
will another tender kiss seal
a distant love?