it is too late to say sorry
when amends are pretty flowers
and
the memory resides planted six feet under
the green grass
and weeds all growing over
the
scar in the earth
no matter
the tears you water
the ground under
your feet
or the rose in your hand
so next time
grow
your flowers where
you vow to get planted
yourself
or grab a handful of
earth in your hand
and dance
breathing
hard and
smiling

just a leaf left
on the pillow next to me
now, a whisper of smoke
vapor tracing your path

out the door
going back to the
limb I stole you from,
the place you must return

I rake my bed for more,
try to make
a place
for you to fall

again, next time.

Who’s to say what’s what
in this culture-crossed world?
where the synonym of worth
can no longer be identity
but whose mirror
is not yet humanity.
Who’s to decide?
when the present is just the transition
between before and after.

Let not the loudest voice be the one that compares
the world that has gone and the world that is now
and let it be the one that proclaims the way to
the world that should be.

The light of flame races across the dark, empty something,
arcing over and into me, illuminating me alive.
But as I look around for someone to touch, call out to share this world of thoughts,
I begin to cry, for no one is there to answer.
Is there no one else?
     has sanity been taken off the shelf?
     replaced with something accidental,
     something anecdotal.
something so monstrous
     that it extends beyond our beds and
     rests upon society it’s ugly head?
you cannot trust anyone unless they’ve proven
     that they aren’t just another hallowed leech
     looking for another body to beseech
     with their unfulfilled favors but
it shouldn’t have to be this way.
You have your views, I have mine
I'll respect yours, if you do the same
We’re on a path for destruction
If we can’t-
Can’t anyone see it?
In the societal silence, my voice withers.
Meekly I respond, “Good,” to “How are you?” and “Nothing,” to “What’s Up?”,
but I’m sick of acting this part.
We all have our own problems but that doesn’t mean we can ignore the ones that are all of ours,
sitting dazed in the flames of our twenty first century world.
By now I’m done with suffocating in the dark.
In the search for a crystal-clear lens, I rise.
Amethyst Fire.

Let’s make history, you and me.
Yeh, let’s make history, you and me.
Bringing Peace to the world of the free.
Spreading Love all round the globe,
From greatest whale to tiniest microbe.

Let’s make history you and me.
Ain’t no time for a cuppa tea.
But later we’ll have a jamboree.

Let’s make history you and me.
The world’s in a mess, everyone can see.
So many people, so much hate.
We gotta give ‘em a better fate.

Forget religion, forget your race.
Forget your nation, accept God’s Grace.
Come up and join us, let’s have a ball,
With or without some Alcohol.

The Beatles tried this, yes we know,
But that don’t mean we gotta give in.
You can always say I told you so,
Until that Goodness overcomes Sin.

We must keep trying, that’s all we say.
So let’s make history on this fine day.

Paul Butters

Trillions of years from now
The scattered remnants of our Universe
Float in endless darkness,
All stars extinguished.

Scattered fragments and swirls of gas
Are all that remain
Of what was once a glory
Filled with countless galaxy clusters
Shining bright.

But something happens.
A trigger point is reached.
Two particles attract.
Two more.
And more.

Ever so slowly, Gravity takes hold again
Then faster and faster
All that matter
Implodes.

The Universe contracts again
Shrinking down
To that central Singularity,
Back to that point
From which it all Began.

Paul Butters

Story after story
Displayed on stories upon stories
Of multiple library floors
In large spacious rooms

Levels of fiction
Nonfiction
Mystery
Poetry

On and on they go
Lined on shelves dauntingly high
Or Child-level low
Artful as featured works in museums

We congregate with hushed voices in examination
Yet we can touch them
We are invited to
We can reach out and remove a piece of history

From the ancient days of scrolls
To the modern pages
We pull them from their places
To discover the wonders within

Sharing in the joy that emanates
From the joining of imaginations
A connection so powerful
It unites the hearts of strangers

We lose ourselves for hours
In our favorite chapters
With our beloved characters
Whom we come to love as precious friends

Reading ignites the imaginative powers of the self
And it all begins by pulling a book off of a shelf