Butterfly, slow down and feel each wing floating gently against the wind,
and each tissue moves with one another
against the tide of how the earth would be,
could be
without your flapping.
Butterfly, slow down, close your eyes and feel the world beneath you
you are not falling,
as you come down from the sky,
you make direction.
Floating on the chaos of how the world is
eternal, primordial
you cannot change her, she was made this way.
And so your ancestors made you,
and theirs made them;
found a way to be that survives despite her disorder.
A way that strives.

Strife butterfly strife,
while you bat your wings and tuck your feet,
find joy and be free butterfly, for the world doesn't own you.
Understand,
that chaos is change, and the world is chaos,
that change is consistent but without remorse,
and you could land on what you thought was a flower someday,
it would be beautiful and smell sweet,
but it might be Venus, and she will entrap you,
consume you in her sweetness.
So strive butterfly,
for it is better that you keep tasting the sugar,
and one day be bitten,
than to starve in bitter caution.