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.