The Soul Will Close Its Eyes
a blade of conscious grass
streams carry water to nourish
as children run to capture lightening bugs
mesmerized by flickers they would own
but in the morning all are dead
no matter the air or bits they’re fed.
the butterfly, the bird of beauty, pressed tightly
held so near
not understanding fear
or the need
to be forever freed
knowing the cost
of all that is lost
Each time a freedom dies
a part of every soul must close its eyes
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