Freedom
Its bright yellow and
black wings
Beat the
air,
Stirring
it
As it flies within its
confines.
Within the glass
walls,
There is
water.
There is
food.
There is enough to keep
the butterfly alive
Physically.
Outside the glass walls,
there is
Freedom.
The butterfly looks
through the glass
And sees the bright
splashes of color:
Scarlet, fuschia, violet,
buttercup
It longs to taste
them,
To drink from their
beauty
For nourishment of its
starved soul.
It beats against the
glass repeatedly
Until its wings are
battered and torn
From the attempts to
gain
Freedom.
It finally lies on the
floor of the glass cage,
still and
limp,
Exhausted from the
battle.
A gentle hand reaches in
and
Cups the
butterfly,
Careful not to bruise it
further.
The butterfly sees the
glass walls
Fall away as it is lifted
and carried
Outside and placed in the
soft green grass.
Its wings flutter
slightly until it finally takes flight,
Its pattern shaky at
first
Until it gains
strength.
It flies into those
bright colors
It envisioned only from
within the glass.
It finally has
its
Freedom.
 
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