Blessed are the butterflies
that brighten ugly walls
They bring a little sunshine
to where there’s none at all
The flutter of their spacious wings
chase the clouds away
that prey upon the innocence
of an unsuspecting day

May I rest against a tree
To part from this tired world
And like Fall leaves
That once set free
Fly like wings unfurled

May it be an Autumn wind
Warmed by the breath of God
That brings my soul home again
As they bury me ‘neath the sod

Every day
has it’s due
and usually spent
with no clue
That from childhood
to married
then finally buried
So many these days
and yet so few

As I sit in the backyard
and savor the serenity
of the sun setting over a tree
I truly know
this moment of tranquility
is but a whistle stop for me

What in God’s name
has this sorry world done?
When the looks of such misery
are on faces so young
When the agents of darkness
walk around in the sun
When no one will say it
but the evil has won
What has the world come to?
What has it done?

Sitting in the padded cell
his mind hanging by a thread
Foam-filled mitts taped around his hands
so he cannot harm his head
Reliving the early lessons
of his father's wrath
Beaten by the very spoons
used to teach him math
If the answer was incorrect
his father screamed "You're wrong!'
then rapped the poor kid's noggin
like a Chinese gong

As the rose-colored spatter
ran across the wall
This genius in budding
felt no remorse at all
Possessed by a craving
for a special shade of red
to complete the special masterpiece
that had always been in his head
He dipped his brush into some blood
that had spilled upon the floor
His masterpiece might have to wait
The police are at the door