Icing on my lip

Crumpled silver gift wrap

A butterfly-shaped balloon

Childhood, sailing like a sugar-sweet ship

Not yet exposed to life’s trap

Years away, it loomed

Eyes still wide and bright

Your hands not as worn

Colors seemed brighter back then

You were and are my beaming light

Yet your heart was shredded and torn

Destroyed from way back when

“Why are you crying?” I asked in the birch-brushed breeze

You smiled as you rushed to bury it down

You held me tight like I was falling

“Let’s not talk about that, please.”

You grabbed my hand and washed away my frown

Your eyes went up to where God was watching

“I hope you’re always free as a butterfly,” you then said. “May you always fly free.”

“I pray you follow your dreams.”

“You will always be my heart.”

Did you know that butterflies are thought of as the souls of the deceased?

Spirits that are free of sadness and screams?

Did you so desperately want to depart?

I don’t think. I tell myself that wasn’t your way

But now I’m old and I know your strife

Your sadness wasn’t just my imagination

I pray your your someday

And that it brings the whisper of a new life

I hope your wings are made of lightness and inspiration

Fly toward the crystal moon

Or glide over that fearful, infinite sea

And rest those tear-streaked wings on a frail, falling leaf

We both know the sun will always set too soon

And amongst them, there’s only so much free we can be

But until those days ahead, the idea of flying can be its own relief