Some are prisoners inside themselves, some dare to go outside despite a scarred body soul from many unexpected wounds.
Reaching out with expectant lips waiting for a butterfly's kiss but...where are the butterflies?...

I stepped outside of myself
into an unforgiving world,
with vacillating insecure feet
which got bogged down
in a long and strange street
made with soft cobblestones,
an unreal inebriating fantasy
where ice is suddenly warm
and the warm of the heart
is suddenly so very cold.

I stepped outside of myself
expecting not the ones old
something surprisingly new
after being buried of my own
in dungeons without giving a
chance to that thing called hope;
should open the heart so wide
that it can hold all the wide love
strewn like hybrid seeds
over the barren face of my world.

I stepped outside of myself
to try, for once, outside the box,
not to look at the bad things around
but only to those that were good,
a soul eremite venturing outside
to see if it was true that cruel doom
that only you can hear saying
that hope was, but all gone,
when all the butterflies died
and their wings are here no more.