Friday, November 18, 2011

season of mists

Butterfly, fly home
Ascend to where you will find rest
Flitting from flower to flower
Unceasingly
This world is too harsh to house such a creature,
Ethereal, you transcend.
Yet your wings-brightly colored-are woven in the fabric of the world.
Relentless, the end arrives for all things-
even you, fragile butterfly.
But death is not a butterfly's swan song.
On the other side of the dark is light
Fly to it, butterfly-
With your heart racing,
Your wings pounding,
Your soul yearning.
Your song blending, melting, merging
becoming one
with the Light.

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