A Butterfly

I killed a butterfly today
then tried to write a poem
I don't know why I did it
It died without a home
It struck me as compelling
as I recalled what my parents used to say
be mindful of your surroundings
a flap of butterfly wings can change a day

I thought little of it then
yet now I obsess as I reminisce
if a butterfly flap can change so much
what of the absence of it?
Have I sealed my fate to infamy
or paved my way to riches
but maybe if I kill another?
my unforeseeable fate switches

But what's a butterfly to me?
it wasn't much before
now you expect me to believe
it holds the key to what's in store?
Free will must exist
at least as long as I believe it to
foolish of me to think my dead butterfly
could have some affect on you

Yet I sit here thinking
of thoughts I've never had
a liar I would be to tell you
that I haven't changed a tad
It did not have a name
and I did not have a reason
yet as I blankly stared down
I felt as if I had committed treason

So I sweep away the body
and leave the room to clear my head
if my hand's never clapped
this butterfly would not be dead
so be wary of the change you bring
the waves you choose to make
that butterfly could have changed a day
and not believing that was my mistake