Flight of the Butterflies

Renewal, strength, and rebirth encapsulate her arms where wet wings flutter,
lifting her body off the ground.
The sweet smell of mossy earth lingers like a rainstorm soaks everything in its path
but then the sun rays shine and dry up all the sky’s tears.
She dances on dew drop flower petals as they droop to her poison filled veins.
Once sick and clinging to a machine, now free to the unexpected journey where
she will meet others like her who were claimed by death but emerge to a new life.

They are here,
wisping around with synchronized heartbeats that fill the warm air
around each part of their delicate bodies.
They were all miserable at one point or another,
wishing for the pain to subside with each pill that entered their blood streams.
Now their minds are open to transition,
flapping with all their might to any place they so greatly desire.
They can fly up to the light that draws them in, never to be seen again,
or to stay peacefully on branch buds, that transform to vibrant green leaves.

She hasn’t made up her mind as to where her wings will take her.
For now she sits on a weathered stone with indented marks that tell a tale of tragedy.
She is always slowly swaying in the wind as people come,
not ready to let go of her past but change is what she was made for,
so one day she will realize her worth and fly to the heavens where she whispers
each secret she heard or was told by those who will one day take that flight like she once did.






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