…of death

Deep breaths in and out
I can’t do this anymore
I hear the rattle in my chest
the sharp touch of the blade
that in my imagination
explains the pain
that accompanies each inhale
and each exhale

now breathless
light headed
I feel butterflies
rising from my depths
their beating wings
creating a soft breeze
that brings me no relief

instead, their silken touch
as they make their escape
in tremulous motion
re-creates exquisite pain
that swims through my veins
as my heart begins beating
in time with their wings
a rapid pace
that I cannot control

my breathing now laboured
the rattle out of step
no rhythm no rhyme
and the butterflies
sense it is time
the circadian rhythm of death
like the flowers close their petals
to protect themselves from the night
my heart is fleeing the darkness
aching to reach the light

where the butterflies
are circling in gentle arcs
around my soul
lifting me limp and weightless
and in the moment
peace descends upon me
the only sound
the soft winds
raised by their silent wings
© Ann Bagnall