butterflies
lightly floating, soaring.
Through the soft, fluffy clouds;
into the dark white nothigness,
Within the used-to-be-blue skies.
I stand below with my arms streched out
Hoping that maybe one will come down,
and land on my arm, my hand.
So that I could feel it.
Silky, colorful wings brush my skin.
I got snow, I got whithered,fallen leaves;
I got raindrops on my hands.
No butterflies.
Hands burning, freezing, itching; willing.
I would fly away as well.
11/03/2011