When It's Just Not Enough Poem by John Farnsworth

I have seen a butterfly-winged heart and soul.
That painfully glowing apparition of light was such a fine gossamer dream
that it had to be touched.
I killed it.
I destroyed with the cumbersome will of my hand a relic and a piece of sacred art.
Like pissing on cave paintings.
The vulgarity of the act is startling,
but only later,
and in multicolored horror,
did i realize the travesty of my own actions.
So determined to make such a flowery cosmic story my own was I
that I more than reached out.
When the palm of my hand wasn't enough
and i feared I'd lose it
I gripped tight.
I grabbed and clutched in the hope that I could attain
and in the fear that I would fail.
My clumsy hand eradicated those delicate wanderings in an instant.
I stood,
transfixed,
watching its tattered scraps drift down to the dusty ground.