Butter Fly

During the day,
They dance and sing,
Amongst waves of the rainbow,
Gently touching down upon.

Their blackened tongues unroll,
Every night the ones accept,
Enjoyment escapes,
But not for the dancer.

Feigned acceptance,
Is there only liberation,
But deep inside,
What lies is hidden.

Pity is my only remorse,
To their meager and frail forms,
Gentle skin and body,
Clouded by unforgiving blue light.

Tending to their sensitive annex,
Something they lost long ago,
Ripped and placid scales,
Of crimson red.

Putting on a show,
For us gentle observers,
Butterflies fluttering in the park,
That's all they've become.