You’ve seen it before,
A butterfly flits in the tall grass.
Comes up on asphalt passage,
No real understanding of the implications.
Nature’s attention turned toward
Nectar’s repast,
Sun-warmed flowers,
Seeking leafy umbrellas until
The showers pass.

But there to hover
At edge of lane,
Breeze beckoning direction,
The decision made
To cross,
To skip over this barren strip,
Proceeding on
To greener pastures…

I awoke today
Wondered how safe it was
To go outside and play.

The newspaper is filled with
Murders, muggings,
Houses on fire,
The distant drums of war,
The pangs of starving children,
The possibility of crippling pain
From accident,
Crashing, crushing
Boats, buses,
Airplanes, cars, and trains.
The noiseless death
Of toxic residue,
Disease, and drugs,
The horrific devastation
Of tornadoes, blizzards,
Forest fires, and floods,
Earthquakes, volcanoes,
Landslides, and hurricanes…

Oh, to be like the butterfly,
Free to be on his or her own
Carefree
And merry way.

Consumed with
The rites of pleasure,
Flights of fancy,
Considering not
The superstitions of fate
Or luck.

Three seconds later,
Ending up on the windshield
Of a pickup truck!



Michael S. True
9-29-13