Torn butterfly

Just a little remembrance of how we should cherish beauty.

I've seen a torn butterfly.
A tragic thing;
Wings of bright yellow embedded with the stark black.
Laying amongst the ground's prickled, dead grass,
I stop to stare.
As if by looking long enough
It will place itself back together,
And flutter away.
Yet it lays unmoving as I slowly lower my knees to the concrete.
How fragile it is, a butterfly.
I had always thought them so quick and too beautiful to be destroyed. 
My finger lightly stroked the great fan.
It's texture smooth and thin as I felt the ground thru it.
Tears dripped from my eyes.
As I weeped for the creature known to be so beautiful,
And destroyed by a horrid twist of fate.
The beauty of the garden
 reduced to scattered remains aside the road.
A free and joyful spirit,
Divided and thrown aside from fate.
And so I wept.
The twelve year old that first learned how to cry,
To cry out against fate.

Author's Note

True story actually. Yesterday I had a little recap when again I saw another torn butterfly on the sidewalk. It's sad and it confuses me to no end. I hope I explained it right.
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Reviews

[realmwriter]

I love butterflys and I must admit that a little piece of me morns everytime I see a dead one. My favorite insect is a Praying Mantis though but the emotion would be the same for me and a Mantis is for you and a butterfly. I cry! Excellent write!