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Life Bottled is Death

I am a butterfly
I flitter about
I rest awhile
I soar
What makes me beautiful?
I could keep you guessing for hours.
Capture me with a lid and bowl
I will die before your eyes.
My wings loose desire, life vanishes from my soul.
As I sit in despair my heart returns to the cocoon.
Look at what you are missing,
life without rhythm to a butterflies tune.
Trust in the nature of a thing.
A butterfly flitters and flies,
it may return it may go.
Isn't that what makes it truly beautiful?
Who would watch a butterfly if we already knew it's next move?
Trust in the nature of a thing.
For a butterfly is always a butterfly
whether resting or soaring,
or tightly wrapped in a cocoon.

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