In the Corner

There is a room
with a corner
where stands a mahogany shelf
of fine grained wood
holding one treasure,
a crystal jar
within it, a butterfly
fluttering its pale wings.

Fingertips
touch the pure crystal
leaving prints,
dark smears and white clouds
on the clear surface
marring the perfect beauty
until it opaques.

inside,
the butterfly remains.

Then one day
a hand brushes across
the shelf
brutally
sweeping the crystal
into the air.

I watch it fall,
watch it splinter
but cannot move to catch it.

I walk forward
and look down
at the shattered pieces
of my trust
and stand there
hands by my sides
as Hope,
the pale winged butterfly
flutters away.

I stand alone
in a corner
of a room.