Blaming the Butterflies

The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton

We flutter far and wide across this earth,

bearing messages from beyond 

to those who grieve, forlorn.

We feed our frail spirits on nectar,

a substance you do not perceive as sustenance - 

yet, our own strength and fragility is maintained

by its essence of light.

We drink very little, 

just what we must in order to drift,

to help alter the face of a sorrowful world,

one that seems to forget 

the presence of beauty too often, too easily.

Our wings do not stir the wind too strenuously 

or cause wild storms to ravage our beloved landscape;

we only bring remnants of solace

to its aftermath

that we breathe in mere whispers, alone.