The fire-colored butterfliesFlying drunkenlySilently sipping on the budding milkweeds.Snowflakes delicately fallingLanding on open mouths of youth.The lake, calm and tranquilSilently discovering the ocean.The smallest trail of smokeMaking its way to the sky.Fate isn’t sealedLike an envelope,Instead it guidesLike the rails on a cliffTo prevent fallingInto a never endingDarkness.Or the starsDotting the sky like frecklesTo prevent the sailorsFrom stumbling into a whistling whirlpool.Not all mapsMust be followed.