So that butterfly flew away,
Flew to a place that wasn't torn by grief,
To a place, that was over war,
To a place full of tranquility,
To a place that has discovered peace.
But that butterfly wont find it.
But it will fly on forever searching,
Not knowing that death is behind every corner lurking.
And that's what the butterfly does,
It's wings are there to flutter,
Poised with motley colors,
It floats gracefully to the sky line,
Hearing the world as just a murmur.
Murdered at the strike of a match,
Dull its colors like a moth,
And as it follows the flame,
It falls into its slumbers,
So forever its dreams are transposed,
Following a wicker flame,
Confusing it as the peaceful environment ,
Not knowing it is flying to a place where its already slain.
