Butterfly

I feel my heart is a butterfly,
fluttering whichway
over a wide landscape,
seeking a colorful
flower to repose on,
to love.

Upon sight, it hovers,
looks for a spot to land.
Quiet, meek, cautious,
it lands on a petal, S-O careful not to
stir her still.

SO careful. SO afraid.
Because you know
dear butterfly
that when flower feels touched
when she feels your thin legs
slide the slightest caress on her petal,
she turns away and closes
or shakes you off in frenzy
hurls you into the wind
or down onto the ground,
and proves to you
again
that you were right.

And dear butterfly, I feel your weariness.
your light wings look worn,
your flutter feels tired,
your flight now seems frail.

As higher you fly,
more tired you feel,
and harder you fall.

I remember when you flew
so high and so graceful
you played with the winds
and aimed for the stars.

You used to sparkle with
such love and life
now you wonder how much of it still
shines through your scars.

And though the firm soil can always
accommodate your rest,
by staying there, you know,
you'll see those colors no more
fly no more
forget the wind
forget your flutter
forget the stars
forget your wings
forget the colors
forget the flowers
forget your love
except as bitter remnants
of a faded dream.

Please keep flying.