The Butterfly

when life is plucked from the tree of life while searching for the forbidden fruit

The butterfly, so perfect-

a symmetrical marvel.

Fluttering wings, coloured,

as if only one were painted

to mirror the other.

And yet so beautiful this being,

had been once so dormant.

Caged, striving nourishment,

moulding itself inside into what she is today.

Lonely being on a flower,

hops off to another to be bigger,

but for what ?

Three days and it dies, on the soil

in decay, her winged canvas,

punctured, graying.

what she lived for ?

Those three days ?

to leave behind a skeleton-

portrayal of pitiful death

of a life newborn,

to get replaced ultimately

before she could've coloured the world fully.

Author's Note

this got me butterflies in the stomach, but even they are dead now.