ALONG THE BUTTERFLY'S HEALING PATH

Virgin and impressionable eyes
blissfully wearing imagination's spectacles
see the omniscience of angels, fairies and magic
in those curiosity nooks and crannies
where a child's mind
conjures the endearing spell of mystical playgrounds.

By the precious delicate sigh uttered in innocence
fantasia's fragile feathers
sprout on tender, trusting arms
giving flight by awe, gasp and dream
unto the figment flawless firmaments
where naive ears only hear enchantment's song
being deaf unto any maturing dirge of impossible.

But then age's reality dragons stalk and invade
a youth's theme park of oblivious serenity
fracturing the gossamer wings of belief
till naive orbs are unveiled of myth and mystery
and never can heal in the suffocating shadows
of harsh practicality.

Yet, even in the oldest and coldest heart
when reborn by passion's flame of revere,
wings can heal and blood set ablaze
to reach once more
for some lofting desire and hope.

When Oz visions infect naked emotions
that neither time nor doubts can mar
the soul shall travel once again
along the butterfly's healing path.