Day 13 of 30 Days In June, PTSD Poetry Project Poem
Butterflies fly across my walls
So fragile, graceful in all sizes, shapes
Differences make them unique
Hope is like these butterflies
It flies in and flits away
Torn wings or no it struggles to fly
Soon the ripped wings become useless
The fall begins
Frantic flutters to stay out of predators reach
Eventually the fight to hold onto hope is lost
What began as a small tear
Leads softly, slowly to the fluttering
Attempt to continue to survive
Originally posted September 7, 2013 to AfterAlright.WordPress.com
Butterflies circle the walls and it occurs to me how fragile they are. The gentle vibrant colors, sizes all the differences making then unique yet so fragile. The carrot of “hope” is like this. It dangles out of reach, showing its beauty by darting in and flitting away. Even when they have a torn, ripped wing they struggle through the unseen currents of air. At some point that torn wing becomes useless and the fall begins.
Fluttering frantically, fighting to stay aloft until caught by a predator. A web designed to entrap, or the ground with its hordes of ants ready to scavenge. Softly the butterfly lets go and allows nature to win.
Inevitable fragility. Each day is your inevitability of this fragile hold starting with a small tear which leads to softly, slowly, giving up.
Softly fluttering in the throes of one last attempt to survive.