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Masked Butterflies

Hanging by two strings like Leonardo DaVinci’s captivating 
Image of man, I ponder past times. Holding for the dearest, 
To the thought of the world below my feet, reigning so high, 
I can imagine the brightest of futures. For months I hold still 
In a vulnerable but bearable position with a fantastic view of 
The world over both shoulders. To my right, a vision, a dream, 
A light, a heaven on Earth, a life of happiness and strength, but 
A long road to lead to such success. To my left, a small, cozy, 
Peaceful, and easily accessible village, with rivers gently 
Flowing downstream. 

On my shoulder rests a butterfly, or so I thought based on 
What I perceive as wings and how pleasantly he flaps. He sits 
Comfortably, where my vision is weak. Patiently, he listens to 
The cries of my choices and observes the desperation of my 
Physical hold to keep a firm grip on both strings. Acknowledging 
The facts related to each view, he quenches my mind with the best 
Outcomes while nourishing my thirst, since my hands are 
So blindly tied. 

Swiftly, I find myself swinging to the heaven I always wanted. 
Glancing back, I see that the string in my left hand was slowly 
Unraveled by the jagged teeth of the moth, whom I thought 
Was a butterfly. Someone I once called my friend, I now 
Notice he only has one wing. Inhibited, he could not fly to 
The local but non-prosperous village that lay directly to my left. 
He smiles in deceit, as he took my string without realizing that 
I am on my way to the heaven I will call my home.

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