The butterfly is an ancient symbol of hope, the symbol of new life, and the symbol of those who are bereaved. However, before the beautiful butterfly emerges it must spend time in a cocoon.

It is our human nature to want to assist the butterfly in its attempt to escape from the cocoon; but, if we do release the butterfly prematurely, it will fall to the ground and perish. By its struggle, the butterfly strengthens it wings enabling its survival and flight to freedom.

Our grief in time of sorrow is like the life process of the butterfly. We often spin a cocoon around ourselves to hide the way we feel, our anger, and our desolation. Others may help us in our struggle; we do not need to travel the path of bereavement alone as does the butterfly.  However, the ultimate responsibility is ours. We need to grieve, hurt, cry, be angry, and strive to free ourselves from our own cocoons of grief.  And, hopefully, one day we will emerge like the beautiful butterfly…a stronger, more compassionate and understanding person. Until that time, let the little butterfly on the corner of this page be a symbol of hope, faith and understanding.

I wanted to cry
It’s a strange coping mechanism I have for when
Things don’t add up but
The air is dry and
There’s no sense in breathing it in
Anymore

I couldn’t cry
My mind was not there
In that wavering state
Bordering fear and anger and
The air is dry and
I am not breathing it in
Anymore

I keep opening my email
Hoping for a petty distraction from
My senses all piling in at once
Giving in to heat
And breaking reason but
The air is dry and
Breathing is not living
Anymore

I find joy in letting things go
It’s come as natural as beating
In the chest
I am awake but dream to wake
On a day sun really shines and
The numbers really add up while
The air is dry and
Breath is not a good enough excuse
Anymore

I wanted to cry
But the well’s all dried up
Parched of all its
Perceived life

--
c

For some people,
life is a
game called
    Let's see
         how much
               you can
                    lie to yourself

Doesn't anybody anymore,
Pay attention to the rules of the land?
It seems people have given up
On abiding by rules which
Were developed decades, nay
From CENTURIES ago.
An entire encyclopedia,
At our fingertips, for our use,
And we can not see it for the keys.
Nothing is hidden from view.
We have spell check, and
We have grammar check.
In our zeal, we choose to ignore.
We have a thesaurus within our grasp.
We have the ability to count to ten.
And just like everything else in life...
...we have given up on rhyme, and meter.
When will we ever learn,
That some things in life,
Are best left to tradition.
And we should become progressive,
In our thoughts on paper.
Inclusive of Meter, MAYBE to rhyme.
And bring that progression into life.
Not to wither and die on paper,
In a dusty old library of old thoughts and deeds.