Black Butterfly Poem by Bree Z Love

Bring question to a myth of death.
I cry for the misconceptions, giveth.
Your existence is rare.
So, I will plead for you and share.
The presence of your breath in my ear.
Secrets warranting to be known and understood of your essence.
I'll ask them to acknowledge and decipher your truth and identity from the drab moth's presence.

Black Butterfly has a name Pink Rose, a shift.
In weak perceptions; Rise high knowing the inner gift.
That power contends dividing the lands bare.
Witness; a death of old energies to a new aware.
The coming into this rarity of countenance is brilliance.
Check the enlightening view of death.
I listened to Pink Rose's breath.