Broken Butterflies

You wear your anger well and stand

For all the world to see

A heavy cloak and one gloved hand

And no humility

You stand inside the garden

And feast on black cherries

And swallow the manna from heaven

And spit out the seeds

You spread your anger on sharp-edged knives

Cut my skin and make it bleed

Like pilate in his self righteousness

You're a traitor and a thief

Choking on your unplanned words

Coughing up your lies

Tumbling from your mouth a flurry

Of broken butterflies

Broken butterflies at rest

Their wings have snapped in two

On their way to certain death

Their colors golden blue

But the blood that flows I cannot hide

The blood that covers me

Nourishes the butterflies

And they are healed and are set free