hope is a butterfly

bright blue butterflies flitting about in the iron cage.

crescendos of wingbeats.

tiny arthropod footsteps.

a frenzied flock of flurried fluorescent fantasy

animated with each antennae twitch.

forming beaming, blossoming clouds

pouring forth from the sky.

dancing delightfully in doomed arches

twisting, turning tediously

in lazy spirals.

wingbeats roar

butterflies soar, raising their tiny heads.

forming a tornado

twirling, swirling, whirling

in shades of blue.

so fast

that bright blue bodies burst

against iron walls.

raining ravaged remains

furious falling feathers of flight.

the ground is littered with appendages

and translucent grey blood.

perched on this precarious pile,

one stands alone,

a hopeful spirit of perseverance

upon this mountain of scattered corpses,

its fellow flyers. 

its antennae twitch,

then this small creature takes to the skies.

Hope is a butterfly