Once a gravel caught inside a soldier’s shoe
became a wound, that snowballed into pus
and soon his gangrened limb, was cut, and thus
the butterfly effect from stones was how,
though crippled, he was saved from slaughter
at the battlefield, where crosses mark the graves
of men, his friends we claim are heroes, brave
recipients of posthumous badges, fluttered
dead, by bullet butterflies, from wings that pulled
the strings of mortar hurricanes, from gunshot
aimed to put an end for double kingdoms
to begin a tale where still the end’s untold.
Let’s pray for rocks to cure the symptoms
and thus conclude in peace, this deadly plot.
Today I invite you to write about the butterfly effect at toads, my effort was a little bit a double butterfly of a soldier saved from slaughter and the shots in Sarajevo that triggered the word war one that probably has not ended yet. A kind of sonnet sort of.
May 29, 2016