BUTTERFLIES OF TIME
A few seconds on this side is day
A few moments later, on the other side
Different in colour, varied in character
Separated by a needle
running through time.
Day breaks into sun
and interminable jobs
Night thrives in the lap of a shadow
Ever waiting on the brink of time
Within a step fall of age and clime.
White though the day
hides black deeds
Which glow with guilt
while man sleeps
Black, the colour of night but only
a mask for hiding forbidden grief.