Walking through the mist of reality
the smell of flaws fill the
room, with ignorance.
the butterfly, it's wings so
full of emotion,
begins to grow
weary, lifeless
the light grows dim
all is gone,
for good.
we all wait, for the time
to find, that thing we all desire
hope;
it's the grace in the flows of the wind
that brings that butterfly
to a new beginning.
is it too late?
im afraid so.
but nothing is lost.
Joelle Lauren Phillips
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-escence/
