Beauty of the Butterfly
Author: Zorra Reed
Moonrise Inn Publications

Call me and I'll come back to you
Be it day or night.

My words, they shall comfort you
until darkness demands time of the light.
Truths hang, like butterflies, in the air
until harsh winds blows them about.
They crash falling on thorns of stone.
Delicate wings tear, nevermore to fly.
Nevermore to soar.

High up in the midnight sky,
lies rip at the body, pain and hurt they bring.
Decaying
Eating, flesh and bone alike.
Nothing left for the earth
no prayer for a fading life.
Gone, wiped out.

The memory may haunt you.
Still, the butterfly
with its torn wings and shrill cries,
will rein in color and beauty
until all the earth dies.

Still, I'll come back to you, if you call me.