melting butterflies

butter wouldnt melt in the mouth, it could be said,
but what when the jaws of hell have been opened?

the air is hot, and a stifling wind creeps through the air, and sweat flows from every pore. there's an intensity in the air as of an emptiness before something terrible happens.

but are we worried? hell no. and the heat's going up, but we're just lying in the sun... catching rays, sun-worshipping, life flowing away faster than you can breathe.

...if you glance towards the skies you might see the lovely butterflies, but as they soar gently closer to the sun they begin to melt, everyone. like little icaruses they feel they can break all the bounds of limitation, and physics matters not to them (even if icarus was plaigiarising firnas bin arnas).

like moths around the flames, and that golden-hearted man still stood there, trying to catch them with his bare hands, out of his love for them, but he's not responsible for them...

so they begin to drip, drip, melt and fry to a crisp, out of the frying pan into the fire. why didnt they realise? why does a baby always try to test the limits? burns his hand and turns to mum and cries?

progression, and civilisation has got us into a mess, and the only way to get along seems to be ingnorance to the effects of what we've done in our glasshouse. so just switch on the a/c and blow sweet, cool, fabricated air into your face, as you fall asleep and dream of those butterflies.

however, ignorance is unforgiveable, and fruitless in the end - five minutes of peace traded for endless heat, more than any of us could ever imagine. it's said that the heat of fire in our times is the smallest portion of one-seventieth of the heat of the grand eternal fire waiting for all lost ignorant butterflies, and from which there's no flying away in forgetful daydreams.

and it's easy to think of these words in fantasy, but to see and feel, thats the key, before it happens to you, or me, or us all.

lets get flat on our faces and start asking to be saved...