but a baby butterfly am I        
clashing against this tide.        
whips of flame behind me        
attempt to slash my side.
Isplatter on life's windshield
plastered to its surface.
the remnants of mywings
undergo metamorphosis.
a trinket of an effort
no rain can washaway.
the driver of this tour bus
knows not the disarray.
still onwardto the light
of this magnificent red.
but I had flown opposite
to savemyself instead.
so I travel backwards
with my hapless past.
yet death isjustice in this life.
baby butterfly. Free at last!!