Metamorphosis

My sniper retired so my butterflies still have wings

and they're flying and flying

and with every flutter I start to weep;

It's almost like I shouldn't have dreams

Because behind my lids it's only you I see

And I know that I should just let it be,

But still I reach out for your hands

And hope for our palms to meet.

If I can't be fanciful maybe I could be truthful;

Cast aside my desires and drop the curtain,

Sweep away the unsaid intentions,

Make excuses for your opaque, blue eyes who remain uncertain.

Make friends with the violet in your hair

And weave a bracelet out of the strings

That hold us, bound, in the space between

While I wait and see what the future brings.

It was a mistake to give a caterpillar wings

Only after they've anchored themselves to a tree

Because therein they stay until they cannot

And this silky pink chrysalis is a facetious lot.

I have spun myself 'round to begin this growth

And wrapped myself in a rainbow cloak.

But no matter how many colors shine

Yours are solid and you won't become mine.

You string up your guitar and begin to play,

I flutter my wings and start to drift away,

Sometimes I still don't know what growth is

But perhaps that is the metamorphosis.