Butterflies

I see them soaring through the sky.

Blue, black, green, purple-they fly.

If only I could soar like that.

I’d go at the drop of a hat.

The soft, rhythmic flapping of wings.

They tell of times and journeys and things.

The butterflies come and land in my garden.

But then, my heart begins to harden.

When I see them, I don’t care.

It’s as if they aren’t there.

I’ve been through so much pain and strife.

I don’t think I’ll ever fly again in life.