The Broken Butterfly

Pinions ripped but savagely beautiful
getting paler and colder, forming crystals.
One touch and she will crumble into dust,
ashes, bountifully crushed.

Heavens water eternally frozen;
clear shards, quartz crystal, painfully crafted.
Her wings covered with a laminate layer
as I cry out to god with one last prayer.

Mesmerised, with the stillness of a body
so alive at one time, I would sit and just stare
into the orbuculum. Peering into an abyss of fortune,
thinking, of how your life began – simply a cocoon.