The End

A butterfly in a gilded cage
Abundant with beauty, but not with age
Watched the day pass
Through a veil of glass

Light went through
But the butterfly could not
All to do
Was nothing, never, not

All the animals wish and prayed
To free her from her cell
Oblivious to the way
That they were trapped as well

So on time passed
With meter and measure
Never fast
And always with displeasure

Beneficent to the plight of others
They had become only relevant
In the context of each other

Not realizing that they too
Lived behind walls, so true
That it obscured all
They saw spoke and chose to do

Just as much as the butterfly
They were interred
In clear superheated sand
All their words falling upon deaf ears
Of possibilities and absent can

Each shielded with self-loathing and doubt
In a gilded cage they made to not get out

The creation of the separation
Was not anything new
But it left them void of education
As to who was who

No longer was this question asked
In the form of moral ages past
But rather phrased in terms of how and what one spent during their days
The colour of a soul
Suddenly became an ashen grey

Mindless drones
Fly like butterflies
In darkened homes
Not asking why
But only what and how much?

Not caring of care
nor loving of love
More like moths, in the air
Seeking of an illusory light
As their wings, beclouded with refuse
Alight with the radiant energy of a fading star
A noose around their nape, is the false prophet of diamond
Brilliant, shining, materialist rape

Though nigh they mind
and perish the thought
That they might find
All is not

What they see or what they hear
And that the cage
Is ever near

In every heart sobered by the appearance of utility
not aware of the art which impels them to futility

So the animals went on
Unaware of what was wrong
But the compound eyes of the butterfly pierced her translucent veil
Her glass now shattered
Her reason had prevailed

And though she now had no clue of what she desired
She became truly inspired
By truth of sight
She came to comprehend
What she wanted, was in front of her in

THE END


As a postscript, I do want to explain sort of what this means from my perspective. The butterfly is unaware of the various alienation we all are subject to by Commercialist society. In a sort of deontological moralist sense, we are made to treat others in such a way that they are not truly the objects of beauty they actually are, by turning them into commodities for our own use. As opposed to ends. THe end of human existence is itself human existence and its perpetuation , which entails cooperation, kindness and love from all of us. Should we choose to be rabbits running from place to place, digging hole to hole to gain material wealth we become drab, dull shells of ourselves.