Fluttering By

Seeing through your lies with butterfly eyes. Passing by these disguised, a guise of those who question what lies beneath skins. I've witnessed sins' corruption as well as completion, made a slue of assumptions and passed it off as gumption yet this futility wore thin as these wing's fragile design is.

Leaving my fellows to their own bellows is just how the wind blows. Allow them to judge between their losses and gains is no strain; besides, I'm not gnat-ty like that! Been accosted for your attempts to fly is beyond average, mundane, profane and classic and I'd say it's high time to be drastic... Amidst all the magic, be patient.

The reflection is this, as formerly hung out upon a fashioned wooden cockpit being formed in my pupa, feeling the breezeway as I became leeward, I recollect. Now as I swallow dry whit to satiate my saturated fragile limbs steeped in pollen, my confidence has leafed out. Following the lead of the day's sun with nobody exactly recalled as my teacher, I'm given my watch; experience gained with every lift off.

A slight transition from creature to new creation is best described as this:

Relief comes in, no longer a sleepy-eyed pupil inundated by all the sophistication and ridicule, left to feel all's been wasted. How numbness succumbs the dumbing effects of silenced enmity's hiss is a sweetness greater than nectar, I conjecture. A flowering generation is outlasting past tugs and near misses as a small one's hands grab at the tree's fruitful abiding, all the while some just fall to the ground; and it becomes understood simply as recycling.

A whetted kiss of life's breath passes as a male child's children are regathered to his wingspan. I've witnessed the after death, hinted at bloodied tree event and pondered,

"Is the sap of this living reduced to the bluish tinge of an evergreen or, does the crimsoned flow of water causing oil to still remain unmixed, once my Romanesque spearhead was dislodged, truly mean something?"

No longer will we go tiptoeing past the shattering of stained glass strewn about the sidewalk like eggshells after the windows were broken in through. Passing off our lackluster visage as my mere existence hasn't been regarded by every memory, doesn't have to leave our larvae stasis as ungrateful even if somewhat unfinished, we must be tended to. To the ill-begotten coming back again, as a watchman's role is to identify with you, don't be offended when asked to state your business clearly.

The assurance of our path is best revived without a worrisome trial endured that if our bones are taken through the fire at least you'll still be aglow to light the way home, back to the castle or cubical. My sire is in the affairs of hidden rebirth as the chrysalis dangles in the branch like strange fruit wood. And no this is no entitlement, this is a legacy born of ash, soot, and a thickened layer of dung laid atop the furrowed soil after seeded truth was entrusted to you, messenger.

Still hearing the cries of infantile reasoning is my mantle and because I wasn't properly nurtured doesn't give the righteous mishandling justification, even when eternal writ dissolves. Such a need of solvents to tend to these vines grown over the watchtower's stone walls, as it is witnessed that our left hand knows far too much of what the right hand has been doing. Creator is to be thanked for the endeavor to speak cleverly in limericks by redeemed scribe; severing the leverage beheld by Pharisee's seldom attendance to respond to intended instructions id est traversing through the midway.

A quick visit to visionary sighting required no trance, a dream sequence to enliven a delivered slave once advanced past the boulder carried aback; the leathers were cut free. That which was keeping sight from proper beholding, the corded straps now severed, I have this to share among the annals emerged from the cave. I was met with a stoically poised being holding a small treasure chest once inside and as I was able to sneak a peek at contents within I saw the wings of heavenly consistency. And though I emerged from naturally formed tomb likened to a womb, loincloth as my privacy for covering, the pangs of being infused with exposure to a mystery all I can recall is what was made known in this being shown...

Beauty beheld in the perceiving of butterfly eyes is endowed to view a sighting of a thunderstorm; an enlarged heart yet not about to rupture, is the storm I've been given to chase after. I give thanks that I've been given sight to discern what Your Hand is doing, Father! Being inspired to chase after Your gentle thunder, You'll always be greater than this vessel's feeble knees and weakened fingers that dangle like misshapen beads hung in the doorway. You've allowed passage is all that's left to say for the feet that are quick to take to flight as they flow past this dying age like Your Throne's purified waters.