Butterfly Wings

 There upon the dew-moist grass I sat.  From flower to cloud, plant to sky I gazed.  Not stopping to think.  Until, light-jolly, floating across my path, winged Beauty danced for my attention, and in the sunlight blazed a scream of color, delicate and refined.

 

“Butterfly,”

Said I,

 

As she bent her wings, the wind to bind.  I watched, enchanted, and so was surprised when voice low but small uttered, “Ironic,” with a smile in the tone.  All around my eyes searched the world for the speaker, then realized, by my hand spread across the fine grass; burnt-brown, alone, arms spanned and free—

 

The Moth,

Voice lost,

 

Stared mute at dancing Beauty.  Presuming a jealous contest at heart, I questioned, “What can you mean, my dusty friend,” in vague attempt at insult.  The Moth merely, with one obscure feather raised, motioned toward flapping friend, and voiced again, “Cupid loved Psyche like a dolt.  Her mindless virtue meant nothing in the dark.”  Intrigued but cautious of some coldness in Moth’s mind, I sank to spy a better view, or more distinguishing mark.  She drooped, Moth, against the grass, dully resigned.  A deep design was drawn against the bark of her skin.  My eye could almost read its story, but always lost its track.  The more my eyes perceived, the more within my spirit felt sparked for all I desire but lack.  Hurt, confused, I looked away in shameful fear.  “It is not hate, spoke Moth in manner even but heavy, “that you sense in me,” she continued as I held my breath to hear, “The symbol for the soul is external Beauty.”  “Irony,” I whispered, as understanding swept my mind.

 

“You see,”

Said she,

 

And said no more, though I waited for the words she could not find.  She sank beneath the blades and left me to my thought.  The Beauty remained, less exuberant now, in light of all these things.  “She could be lovely,” I began, thinking on the spark I’d caught.  “If she ever escaped the shadow of butterfly wings.”

Reviews

[kamikazebuterfli]

Great piece! My favorite line is the first line: "There upon the dew-moist grass I sat..."