"But I guess that's why my heart still beats in solitude,
Waiting for the girl with wings like a butterfly
While she flies further away from my sight...
And I'm left here alone without poetry."

I think the old saying "if you love something let it go, if it comes back it was yours, if it doesn't it never was", and that butterflies can't thrive in captivity, although that doesn't directly tie in here. I guess what I'm trying to say is, when life takes away poetry, make your own/find it else where (: