Time is flying like a butterfly,
While my mind soars like a vulture
Broad, starving, and searching
A desert of what life was lies beneath me
Every creature, every semblance of what was
Has hidden away. Even the night owls
Are forced to scavenge close to home
Wind trembles under my wings
I command where I want to be taken but
Everything is empty
The watering hole is a mirage
The trees have forsaken their leaves
The carcasses that would have fed me
Have been picked over by rabbits and mice
Before the coyote or eagles
Could have even smelt it
And what is left for me?
I hope for a bone, gristle, maybe even fur
Something to put away the gnawing hunger
That echoes fervently inside my head
And yet
Even the starving wind has eaten away
The fur and crushed bones
Which the sun had also devoured into dust
Shall I land? Allow my feet to once again
Touch the sands that I've refused to acknowledge
And, somehow, truly begin to feel the fire
Of the sky beating down on me
As it has with every other creature...
Or shall I fly on?
Slowly, hopeful of the next scape
Being led by a careless butterfly
Which ***** it's wings as an infant walks
Only resting for food and drink
But... aren't I also as that?
A being that soars, not caring to see
What is below or around me
As my goal is not the frog
Not the eagle
Not even the wolf
My goal is me, tomorrow
As each flap of the butterfly's wings
Is valued at less than a drop of morning dew
The relentless need to push on
Is in symmetry between it and I
So, I must fly on.
Above the wasted desert
Beyond the wind of bones
Beside the sun that drinks us away
And behind the butterfly
Which never, once, thought of me
Cautiously, and realistically, optimistic
