Lost Spirit

Born as butterlifies that turn into catterpillars.

Starting off with unquestionable hope, freedom, and carelessness.

Seeing the world as a flower patch to roam and grow.

Wearing what makes us smile, and acting without thought.

Knowing little, but knowing the most joy of anyone.

Seeing beauty in mystery in all things, big and small.

Feeling free to jump and skip and dance and twirl and laugh and speak.

Freedom to act; to be pure.

Jumping in puddles, and finding amazement in almost everything.

Craving adventure not approval.

Amusement in bundles, appreciation and ridicule seeming absent.

Eager to be themselves..

then changed.


Spread free, then wound tightly.

Viewing the world through spectacles of judgement.

Labeling things as we see them, and in time labeling ourselves.

Acting with great deal of thought and purpose.

Finding a role for themselves and creating standards of behavior.

Chopping off wings and burrying them, only to look for what we can only give to ourselves..


Feeling darkness, lack of hope, stating that reality is negative.

Believing that reality is somber.

Watching where they step, what they say, who they speak to.

Changing freedom from free to contained.

Treasuring less, yet seeking treasure.

Trading in glee and delight for symmetry and drudge.

Seeking spark in relationships, instead of recreating the spark in themselves.

Saying that becoming self-counscious and downbeat are the characteristics of a grown up.

Simple pleasure becomes hard to find and others opinions tend to matter more than anything.

How backwards it seems that a butterfly would fly back into it's cocoon.



This poem is about: 
My country


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