Oh, to be a butterfly
flitting freely upon the sky
a flower bud or strawberry pie
to land on bones soaked in nectar, I
think of watching monarchs with a tired sigh
to be as simple as a butterfly…

No tail guns, no tracers
no fire or engines roaring by
no, just myself, my wings and I
no wingmen or aces, if I were a butterfly
no dogfights or air raid sirens, no warm scotch chasers
with flat beer, only the pollen trade that I would ply
no stale cigarettes, no cold coffee, no need to keep my humor wry
I would frolic in the sun, happy and dry
over so many flower fields with my own kind,
if I were a butterfly

No spirals of smoke and flames
no chains, broken glass or blood or names
no more would my fingers bleed for hours as I pry
desperate, hanging on every whisper for everything I try
no stench or thirst or hunger would bother me, if I were a butterfly
no fear or obligation would bind me, no desperation would make me vie
for a signal or a weapon to call for help or escape, I would kiss my life goodbye
and I would kiss the blood and sweat off of my cheek one last time, if I were but a butterfly.