the meanwhile butterfly

he saw discomfort written on his hands
and felt his will be thwarted by the world;
the patterns, all chaotic, of perchance
that settled dark in clouds and murky swirled

he turned inside to search out where the light
had gone, and why the bioverse gives pain;
he wanted sun, the shoulder-sun of june,
but felt it weakly through a window pane

he missed the meanwhile butterfly go by
the she without that turns the we to i

escaped from prism, eager to go forth;
the lesson of the worm, turned
metamorph

© Nylakatara2013 | Dreamstime.com – Butterfly iris

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure. View all posts by Beleaguered Servant