Of course chivalry’s dead; I have your cavalier’s head.
Travel thousands of miles,
cross over land and seas
on foot and by ship,
to end back at start.
Walk left, then turn right,
following signs–no detours,
and only make it a few feet forward
before looking back.
Magnetic, swiftly pulling back
first a gentle jog, then a sprinting run,
to return to where it had all
I remember the colorful butterflies,
their fluttering wings in the beautiful summer sky.
Their spring transformations glorious–
the circle of life: caterpillar, cocoon, butterfly.
Eventually it was not as miraculous anymore,
not when so many failed to complete their life cycle.
Ending before fully completing the metamorphosis,
before coming out of their cocoon–never exiting the darkness.