Where have all the butterflies gone?

Blues, coppers, hairstreaks, gossamer-winged
You became sick feeding on foreign foliage, and have fallen.
The monarchs have left to acquire another king,
The swallowtails devour deceptions of the present pollen,
Instead of the life giving, renovating, nectar everlasting.

You see your reflection; all hues now drained, faded,
You left to pursue a seemingly sweeter flower
You regurgitate the memories of long ago now dated.
Adamant, steadfast once with cross tattoo needled after one hour,
Now apathetic, depressed, self-centered, and sadly jaded.

Lying to yourself, wanting to be a dragonfly
Thinking you were embarking on freedom; but instead
You are hopeless as an insect in a jar left to die,
Out on your own, fluttering in the careless wind almost dead,
Come home to your Creator, beautiful butterfly.