Butterfly in Winter
The icy winds cut him so deep,
Yet their wounds he felt not.
Excruciating throbbing of his
Broken heart took his mind
Into lands of tormenting flames
And eternal burns, roasted skin.
Frozen tears of his lost soul.
Glowing sphere, flapping wings.
Second of unfeeling amazement
And non-belief, release of pain
With beauty and grace of colors
Of life which had deserted him.
Least, he had thought God had.
Butterfly in winter, only by God.
A finger held out with a prayer,
Tiny feet of figure in the light
Touching burnt, peeling skin,
Which now tone and smooth.
Roots of love growing into a
Rebirth of spirits incarnated
Together finding a new home.
Butterfly in winter, only by God.
True spring revealed with the
Last stitching sewn of mended
Hearts, his and hers, together,
Two of one, one of two, three
In all, walking with faith of each,
Only by God, butterflies free.
-- Steven Louis Ernest