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Lady_Butterfly. She looks away, a silent grace, A shadow carved in silver. Her hair, a collection of midnight hue, Holds secrets winds once softly blew. Upon her back, where sorrow rests, A burst of wings begins their quest. Bright butterflies, like thoughts set free, In hues that hum of mystery. Each color drips, a memory spilled, Of dreams she lost, of hope fulfilled. They flutter close, then soar above, Each stroke a tale of pain and love. She bears no chains, no scar, no tear Just painted flight upon her back. For though the world may bruise and bend, The soul will bloom, will rise, transcend. And every wing that dances wide Is proof of all she holds inside: A canvas born of pain and struggles, A woman broken, but never gone. _Readypen_