hope and sorrow
are conjoined
the same as
the butterfly
pinned
to the page

the struggle
the hunger
weak
defenseless
driven
by unsated need

irrevocably changed
after so long
as something
lesser than
what was always
inside

to finally
feel the wind
lift
you far above
the places you only
ever existed in

in this moment
that culminates
each painful one before
the net swoops
the needle
slides into the page