In the midst of metamorphosis

She encountered a stone

That intended to pull her deep down,

Beneath the ocean floor,

Lying dormant under the waves.

Black strings of sting and hell spit

Fusing darkened rock to shimmering wing.

But this butterfly was made for wind and altitude,

Not unfathomable depths.

There is no stone heavy enough

To drown what was never meant to touch the water.