Pensées Comme Papillon

the mind perceives
what the hand cannot catch
beauty dances before the face
it lands in the open hand
clutch it; it's dashed to dust
watch too long, fade and  rust
blink and it flutters away
 the stream of time
is the invisible wind
made by the breath of God
we must breathe Him in
and live
with the spirit that flies
from the right hand above
Resurrections place
forever love

Chasing Butterflys