No place for Butterflies

Past notions

engraved in stone,

deep inside.

No place for butterflies.

Caged in,

wounded wisps on their ornamented wings.

Incapable of reaching out of the cage

desperate attempts to grasp

the depth and the endless seeming wideness of the sky.

Cries nobody is able to hear

silent sounds of despair.

Ready to let go of the fluttering of dismay,

against invisible bars

made of doctrines, beliefs and hollow promises full of sorrow

which you can feel with every even tiniest part of your wing.

A soft wind puff, a breeze, smell of colors of relief

of unspeakable ache, unbearable you thought…

Same bars

different glance, different feel

and the unutterable sense of

sliding through

the cold curtail of ragged pages of tales never forgotten,

which have to be overwritten,

turned over, created new on every part

of your resounding beingness.

No place for butterflies?

Every spot is a place

the place YOU design,

on your wings