Since ancient times crowds of men have asked:
What is the purpose of life?
Me included.
Since my later teens and into my sixties
I have wrestled with this question.

To me, it was never about wealth or status.
People waste their time
With such things.

So what should we do
That is Really Good?
WHAT is “Good”?

For me, Life as such is Good.
What use is the Universe,
With its sprawling galaxies
Of fire, rock, dust, water:
Incredible vistas
Shock awe
Eternally Infinite
What use without
A Witness?

We are that Witness,
But should we be much more?
And all I can think
Is to cherish all that lives,
As life itself
Is the most wondrous thing
Of all.

Our purpose then is to nurture
Life at it’s best:
To make it better and better:
Stronger and brighter
More intelligent
With more Love and compassion.

Some will say
Why ask?
Extraterrestrials may have
Another View.
We may be but bacterial infestations
To be cleansed away.

Yet other “Aliens” may well agree
With every word I type.
And like many of us humans
They may be warning
That we must take
Much better care
Of this Paradise
We call Earth.

I call myself a “Lifist”
A believer in
Christianity at it’s best
(But Not it’s worst),
And other Religions too…

So let’s take the best
Of these Beliefs,
Nurture Nature,
Love Life
And just
Get on with it.

Paul Butters

© PB 31\7\2019.

The words weren’t daggers.
Weren’t meant to ****.

They were spindly,
like needles.
But barbed.
So they latch.



I’m not grievously wounded.
Yet I’m still bleeding out...

.

How did I get here?
What year did I get
hooked? I can say
it began in 7th/8th grade,
but this has been going on
much longer.
   I was born addicted
to breathing too hard, kicking,
screaming, fighting everything
going on around me.

   I was born addicted to
burning. I have always reveled
in my own shadow. Been addicted
to addictions. Been hooked on
the Boogey man and the monsters
in my closet.
I remember,
I was 5,
tried to play with
my nightmares, but
they were playing with
my dreams and psyche.

I'm in a downwards
roller coaster. I swear it was
going up,
   Then again after all
the drugs I'm surprised
my inner ear has any sense
of direction.
I've been lost in a hurricane
filled with marijuana,
amphetamines, all the alcohol
you could wish for.
  ******, *******, Percocet, acid,
  shrooms, Ecstacy, Xanax, I've
  popped pills with no clue of the
  name.
  Snorted so many different chemicals
  I got a nose bleed for 2 hours.
  and took another bump
  when the road looked safe.

My path of addiction is
embedded in my DNA.
I swear I was born
on fire.
    I burn through each day,
    I burn through each moment,
    I burned through my own brain.
Burn out... That's what you call it.

I don't believe in done.
I don't believe in unbroken,
or finished, perfection,
spotlessly clean.
It's all a lie.
We all breaks, cracks,
I don't believe in always.
Then again...
When it comes to my brother's
addiction he will always be
drowning in alcohol. *****, whiskey, tequila.
His brain has become and will stay
barren.

I don't believe in recovered,
or survivor, trauma rotting into
your brain. The person you were, just
died, a masterpiece scrapped.

I believe in lost. Hopelessly lost.
Because I am there, or here. I
no longer walk the ground of this
earth, but rather the quicksand of
my memories. Stepping as quick
as I can, trying to find a way
out of my most recent delusions.
I can feel each hurricane of
another flashback and revel in it.
Thinking I'm revolting against him,
but really I'm just letting his
fingerprints from the crime scene
strip me of my pride again.

I'm not sure I believe in hope,
in love, in reality. I don't know my
stance on revenge, hate, vengeance, pride.

I know I'd rip his tongue out, or maybe
just half. So he can still taste his own
blood. Jam my fingers in the mess, so he can
see how it feels to have his blood on my hand.
Play our relationship in reverse. Rewind my nightmares,
see my body being put back together by
time. Slowly I am no longer burning.
I would simply slip away. Get out
of his hold, head locks, and being restricted.

No bruises, no police, no reports, no detectives,
no more holes missing from my being.

I believe in avoiding possibilities.

How long do I have to keep fighting
until I feel like I've finally won
*something

Boom!
White light,
you plummet,
feel the cold air
of a fresh start.
Limbs not in your control,
you think it's a critical
hit, not able to speak
barely any motor skills.

You think it starts to rain,
water on the battlefield
washing off your blood,
wrapping you in nature's embrace.
Warm like an incubator,
keeping you warm and safe,
your eyes sliding closed.

Boom!
White light,
you plummet,
leaving the warmness
of the explosion
you cry out in confusion.
Doctor taking you in his arms,
you think you fell asleep
somewhere between here and there,
feel limbo hanging in the air.

Boom!*
Another flash of light
in your new eyes
sounds ringing through
your new ears,
they're counting your toes
and fingers,
seeing how much you weigh.
Swaddled you are given to
mother nature once again,
3 explosions,
you're dead,
and born again.