Little children
Are full of wonder,
And often eager,
To try things
Differently;
And this is why,
Countless bugs,
Glow worms and beetles,
Have found themselves,
Trapped in match boxes,
And glass bottles,
Over the centuries,
To satisfy,
The curious sparkle,
In a child’s eye.

In growing up,
We shed the trappings,
Of our innocence,
And as the wonder
Of childhood,
Gives way to adolescence,
We forget our trysts,
With macabre experiments,
On ants, bugs and beetles;
We release our minds,
To soar beyond,
The confines of our homes,
Into distant realms,
Much like the little creatures,
That we set free
From their boxes,
Into the wild,
Where they truly belong.

And yet,
There are those,
Who do not;
There is the child
Who grows,
To relish the hurt,
Of a tiny bug
In captivity –
The child who grows,
To be that person who knows,
To seek their release,
In the cowering fear,
That they see in the eyes,
Of the powerless

Image Credit: Photo by Kelly Ishmael on StockSnap