You held my wings apart.
Watched me
flutter and shake;
Suspended, in animation.
When? You asked -
when will she break?
And you rubbed the dust from my wings
(in privy) -
so I may never - fly again.
(Though my spirit, is still not moved)
and still, you ask yourself -
when?...
Your prisioner inside of a bottle,
hidden, for but a 'time'.
Can your eye
discern 'not' judgment? - And truth?
Can you lead the blind?

...Can you 'see'
how you've 'never' held me?
(For the lips of truth - 'are' my wings).

Look again, inside of your bottle -
'empty' - hear the song
that the butterfly sings!!!