Lightning bugs
In Mason jars
And poster board
Butterfly collections,
Death so natural
And pleasing to the eye,
Life all at once
So free and trapped
And unable to fly.
Your words pile
On each other
Like billions of bubbles.
Their soapy sheen fills the room
With a rainbow of colors,
Dazzling your audience as they shine.
Listeners reach out to touch
These magical,
Sparkling spheres,
Wanting to
Take them home,
To study them and understand.
But they pop
Your precious ideas,
And anxious,
Grasping fingers
Now sticky
With evidence of their crime
Are shoved
In deep pockets
Of common sense,
Where they nervously jingle
Keys to places they know
And now are content to stay.
