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I wrote poems once

I wrote poems once
when I had a core
that sprouted and grew
like a magical bean
into the sky

magical beans do not exist
so I can save my tears
and attempts to change something
do not lead to the better

once I wrote poems
at sun pervaded days
the smell of hay
butterflies
colours

the butterflies have gone
I have not noticed it
I just did not turn around for them for some while
now I have lost them

poems I wrote once
hope, yearning and love
what makes me sick today
lies and illusions
within a sea of egocentricity

the illusions must have gone with the butterflies
to the place magical beans grow
the fire has run dry
ashes remain