A Butterfly

(Read in order: Ivy, A Butterfly, A Flower, And A Leaf)

A butterfly…
She flies, caressing the space between
Sunshine, and air, the world unseen.
A stronger spirit is hers, as
Wings beating, she caries herself free,
From the cocoon.

A butterfly…
Once captive, now beyond free.
Liberty, greater than that bestowed on any living being,
It was not a birth right,
It’s hard earned, the air she’s breathing…
Once she writhed, and twisted.
Hers was a fight, she suffered to beg a million wishes.
Change hurts when it’s to surpass circumstance,
And escape that prison
Of one’s own devising.

A butterfly…
Toiling at chance, once she hung from a branch…
Once a pathetic thing dangling, at which others could point and laugh,
A brittle figure, wings wrinkled, and body broken.
It’s hard to struggle into the open
Just to find a world cold, wings useless, and unable to fly.
“Why did I escape? Why did I fight?” is her cry.
“Why did I leave? It would have been easier never to have tried!”
Hope is the most dreadful of trials…
“All for naught! Is it here that I’m simply to die!?”
“I’m a failure amongst all butterflies!”

But a butterfly…
She seems still for a final moment,
Clinging dearly to a leaf.
The wind blows wisely to her relief
Drying her hard earned perfection,
Soothing her, beauty set in stone,
Decisions shaped, and fought through and through,
She is finally made, and made new, all on her own.
With a flutter she drifts away.

A butterfly!
She’s outgrown her own form,
A stronger spirit is hers,
Greater than then or now.
She carries herself free,
She glides like heartbeat,
She’s come far just to be seen!
She is… like you, or me.