MADNESS

Love is soft
Like a butterfly
That flutters by.
 
Delicate and
Vulnerable
Like the heart
Of a child.
Innocent… very innocent.
 
Yes like
A silly artist
It colours
The world anyhow
Just anyhow
Like a blind painter.
And it flutters by
Like a butterfly.
 
Yet mountains
Have been moved.
They have danced.
And the fiercest
Of rainstorms
And floods
Cannot drown it.
 
But wait
Have you ever
Loved?
 
Then you must
Have danced
With mountains
On your head.
 
You know
Of storms… tempests
And fire… colours.
You must know
Of fluttering butterflies
In the stomach
And madness.
 
Or can  you stop it?
Madness.
Arrant madness.