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George Kunkel Poem
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.
Copyright © George Kunkel | Year Posted 2016
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