Reservations on a Cloud

Wings of butterflies.. Life's beauty is often compressed by the speed at which it passes. Our freedom underlies imprisoned aspirations, we're caressed by vengeance, burned by its ashes. When I observe, upon the sky's surface, Rays of peace and riddles of love lost, and I think that I may expire before I interpret them, with the scent of opportunity and when I feel, magnificent wonder, that I shall never capture thee again, never utter your name, or speak of un-mercurial love.. I sit forsaken at the doorstep of an unforgiving world