Chapter 9:

(Poem) Flying Free

Stray Stories and Purposeless Poetry


When I was nine, I caught a butterfly.
The iridescent, blue scales shined
under the hot, summer light.
One of its wings were caught
in between my fingers as I
pinched desperately
to hold on, to never let go. It’s alluring glamour
was Cupid’s arrow. I wanted
to keep it close. Ever so close. I could feel the air blow
ever so slightly from its glittering wingbeats. It felt
like a little fairy’s breath, a sigh, but
no. It wasn’t a sigh, a quiet breath. It wasn’t just
this peaceful rest. This tiny butterfly fluttered
to be released. It didn’t want to
be captured by me. And as I stood enamored
by the deep blue shimmer, it broke free, desperately flying
to safety away from me. Yet with this freedom came
an untold price. A small tear
to its proud, elegant wings. And a sapphire piece
rested cold within my hands
as a short gasp escaped my young, trembling lips.
In tears, I ached at this unfortunate sight. I had caused
an imperfection to this beloved, shiny, blue jewel. And angrily
I exclaimed in selfish confusion—why
couldn’t this butterfly stay caught? Why
couldn’t this butterfly remain caged within my palms?
Like treasure on display, a prized possession
for such an ignorant me. I wanted to share this perfect artistry
with everyone, my friends and family. I wanted to show them
of this once beloved beauty.
But all I could do was stare, gawking
at this once perfect butterfly, still mesmerized
by its remaining, floating pieces. And I realized then
that I could have just
let go
and watched it fly free under the summer sun
with its perfect and unbroken sapphire wings.

L.A.Sirius
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