The Butterfly

Streaks of orange and black
On wings soft as a whisper
Delicate legs clinging to
A solitary twig
With a still-fresh leaf.
Surrounded by clear glass
Of an old jam jar
The outside world,
With its open skies, fresh air,
And so many nectar-filled blossoms,
Perfectly visible beyond the glass.
Captured for the simple sin of beauty.
Trapped in a constant state of longing,
She stretches her wings
And prepares to fly,
Though each attempt is futile.
Days pass, the green leaf withers,
And she folds her wings,
Taking one last look at the
Unattainable pleasures
Beyond the glass prison.

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Comments on: "The Butterfly" (1)

  1. The Mother Ship said:

    This is one of my favorite poems! You are such a talented writer, Brandi. If you don’t pursue your dreams in relation to the written word it will be such a wasted gift. The world needs to experience life through your eyes and the interpretation of your pen. I’m so proud!!

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