Afternoon at the exit of a train station,
Creo, a boy of 13 years, rummaged his pocket. He had no wallet.
“5 cents is all I have today. 5 cents....”
Blank space in his head, he knew it over and over again.
Because he was so poor, unintelligent and forgotten by parents,
He did not have enough to eat, play or be schooled.
Bored, stiffed to the stale and near grey-skinned,
A mere glance at himself made him cold.
So cold where wanting to scream and cry only brought pain.
He sat at the steps near the ticket counter,
Looking at little boys and girls disgusted at him,
Fingers raised at him with teasing ridicule,
Boy did not even know how to hide.
Then a butterfly fluttered and plunged at him,
Its wings had broke, where one of it had snapped.
So he said out, filling his lungs with air, “Are we going to be ok?”
Then the butterfly twitched again so
He picked it up and left it in a safe little mesh box he found.
It was the box that belonged to Therus, an older man.
Therus watched Creo from afar,
Curious to him taking up his box and then
His heart stung a broken note with the boy’s kindness.
Boy had protected the butterfly nearing its end.
Knowing this young one had nothing on him, nothing to say,
But was the light above himself.
He was convinced when it was cold and grey,
There would not be a silver lining
When flickering quietly it must be
A rekindling heart, lighting its last embers.
- Vander
Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities).