DEAD BUTTERFLIES

Too many of life's trophies,
Wilt and waste away.
Under the noses of yearning potentials.
When the chances for their full display.
Are bought and replaced with camouflages.

Would life ever understand?
That it's offer of opportunities
Seems just not enough?
For the few it gave are manipulated by its ministers.
Who decide to favour few and to many no contemplation.

Would life ever interfere?
In the affairs of its victims?
Who at each of its letdowns point accusing fingers.
With the hope of retrieving it at every ray of light.
An opportunity for the expression of their abilities.

Would life ever introduce?
New ways of balancing life rules?
That which should include,
Stories of underdeveloped grassroots.
Serving a background to those who rule.

Would life ever reprimand?
Authorities who abuse power?
Leaving dreams of many,
Who seek assistance,shattered.
With little or no hope of retrieval.

Would life ever understand?
That many of its disappointment,
Came from anticipated achievements.
Birthing the death of most potentials.
Leaving their remains in glasses of experiments.
Lying and unmoving, like dead butterflies.