Butterfly Metamorphasized

Reflective poem about being rescued

The turn of the century was a

Turn

For reasons nothing to do with prophecy

Propaganda or anything of the sort

Rather

It was a passage

A coming-of-age that would live forever.

She came into my life, albeit before this life Knew what it was or could become

She introduced me to

Butterflies

And smiles

And laughs of sorts

Stirrings completely natural yet wonderful--

Turning of the pages

Turned those butterflies To memories; and thus it happened, slowly and surely:

1998 became 1999

1999 became 2000

2000 became the introduction

To that magical and mysterious

Sometimes scary-as-s**t place

Called "high school"

Where friends familiar become

Slow, fading memories of sorts

Where interests and ideas become action

And kids begin to find themselves,

Leaving behind that magical phase

For the real one--

The one yet to create itself. Even she faded into memory, strangely, but really.

"That's how things happen," they always say.

And of course they did, whether any of us were ready for it or not. So it goes.

------

Those butterflies’ evolved-Tangible objects:

Autos; jeans, gel; #10 Quarterback; Lead Guitarist; Drummer for the garage band; Phone, Girl, Boy.

Athlete, Singer, Cliché after f*****g cliché.

------

Somehow she faded from memory; somehow?

Yes. Somehow.

Years ago, when years were mere turns of time.

She "returned" not.

She evolved.

-------

-------

Apollo's chariot bled gold over mortals galore

Revolutions aplenty

And then...more revolutions...

At least 16, nearly 17 folds

17 sets of revolutionary turns

Twisted and turned

Never producing more flapping.

Butterflies became dormant.

Until the hand of God

Played His hand, as He always does--whether we humans want it, mind it or care for it or not.

He knew what would happen

The migration before the migration; a situation made real by human intervention.

For a few folds of time; folds, in the vast array of folds.

Vast.

Not tiny shrivels nor mere passages, but multitudes.

Pages building Chapters, of a section.

Limited and worthwhile.

Meaningful yet, hollow; somehow. More without meaning. Folds grew, dwindled; ultimately, fell apart.

-------

God's hands poured with His Amazing Grace.

Like never before. Reminiscent of those 2000 years, religious connotation notwithstanding.

God said He'd rescued His son

From a land unknown

To a land he would know, one more familiar,

And want, and deserve,

With another human--breathing, living, a soul mirroring his own, unnaturally so; in its own respective ways, mind you.

At first, a pleasant astonishment plagues this wanderer of sorts--

Whose name shares denotation with The Holy Queen

Uniquely enough--

And like the manifested portrayal of her Majesty, this butterfly felt all too Heaven-sent. Giddy, happy, peaceful, pleasant, with knowledge to testify and drive to support worldly-ways, this butterfly soaked the sky in ways that would make Bob Ross proud.

(He he he.)

A butterfly came out of hibernation with ideal, if not perfect, timing-If "perfect" timing even exists.

To rescue another soul

And make it feel

Everything worth living for

Worth breathing

Worth feeling

Is worth being alive and living

Flying the same migration

To the same destinations and yonder

---------

Until time comes to land on a branch,

Flap the wings,

Rest up the lungs, gather up the strength,

And fly on wards

Wherever the migration calls

Summoning the butterflies

As only God Almighty Himself can direct them

For they are His creations after all Paired for the journey

That shall be their own.

That shall be their own.

Author's Note

Ignore any grammatical or tense problems or schematics. This was written in my head and I associated the words to the piece as best I could. Any imagery enhancement or ways to further capture the tone would be appreciated.

Reviews

[HeyJadeXO]

I really like the overall feel of this piece.Life truly does transitions so much more then we stop to realize.