hapless
2June 1, 2018 by petrujviljoen
Butterfly with butter yellow wings; flits, sips, samples. A blackbird then another comes swooping, misses. I pale at its hapless vulnerability. ‘Come butterfly, stay close, I’ll protect you’. It declines. Flies away. Doesn’t recognise me as a symbol. No ken of my soul.
Agh! Stupid insect!
why should I care when I
walk the river’s stones
A Rondel »
petrujviljoen 
This reads to me like a myth. I like thinking of what you wrote that way, it sent me down a lot of paths. Beautiful.
Thanks Claudia. It IS a myth – the one which likens our souls to that of a butterfly. It’s from the story of Psyche and Cupid as far as I can tell. In fact a story within a story, the main one being The Golden Ass by (can’t spell the author’s name and to lazy to look it up right now). Too precarious a situation for what I’d like to think the soul is all about. 🙂