Butterflies

And through the summer sky
Full-hearted butterflies and ladybeetles
With all the ambitions
Of the sun's hours
Rolling off powdered wings,
No one cares to look down.
Life without death
Is not life at all,
Merely existence.
Up, without down
Simply is.
Looking straight ahead
Can't see the future;
The future, the past,
Reality, on the scattered ground.
The unknown beauty of death

The peacefulness that one
Cannot help but harbor jealously for;
Broken powdered wings,
A butterfly, swept from life
By the very winds
Which guided it in times of living.
Like broken dreams,
Ambitions of the future
When life persists in the present.
And for the fragile body,
Washed in delicate death,
A gravestone is nothing
But flies.