Awaiting salvation

A morning, tranquil and pleasant
in the garden,
one cannot help but
notice and assume that
the butterfly, blithe and bright
still glued to the flower
by slumber, must have
hovered over its choices,
(like my hand does, over
a multiple choice question)
to choose from a multitude
the bloom right with,
a colour that matches
well with its flaps' hues,
a scent that brings love,
and a stunning view of
the romantic light.

To spread gloom over
this amusing imagination,
almost in the same breathe,
the mind does waver
to ponder over the scene's
impermanence, of decrepitude
and death, of the cruel paradox
of extreme level, that life is.
Or apparently so.

That, a reason drives everything,
(though hackneyed and banal)
does seem to suggest that
the hologram that life is,
offers a meaning
for the right sight only,
apparently.

Lets hope some dawn
will bring light with it;
even if not a halo o'er my head, brings
Unbound compassion sans the suffering.

P.S: Thanks to this post