I saw a butterfly today
from the lens of a kaleidoscope.
She struggled in her cocoon cage,
trapped inside the confines of
her own handiwork.
I watched as she
cried out clean-cut diamonds,
fruits of her hard won labor
that the rabble rendered worthless.
How far back could she have fallen,
lagging behind her swarm like
she was still a young babe,
lost, confused, and helpless.
Oh, the way she wanted to turn back,
be a caterpillar, fight with her army,
and stand at the top.
Look at the flutter, her peers,
how they had it all figured out,
how they made it out to be so easy,
so simple.
Couldn't she do the same?
But when the night came,
I could have swore I saw
her wings sink to the ground,
no dent into her cocoon.

When the sun comes up,
I will watch again
and I shall await the day
I will see a butterfly
emerge into the light
and spread out her grand wings
only to find that she was doing
perfectly fine.