The sky’s a light carnelian’s shade
and, as the brightness starts to fade,
from carnelian to carmine he turns, too-
soft to vivid tones of the hue.
Looks into the ‘windows to my soul,’
     (‘windows to one’s soul’ he called them)
The intensity nearly swallows me whole-
his windows a pair of solitary gems.
Eyes the colour that fire should be,
a fury to turn flames green with envy.

So as carnelian turns to carmine
and the heavens light up with his glow,
a firefly’s brightness is overshadowed,
but the yellow is whitened down in snow

A lone, saphhired rhododendron in full bloom
unaware of its death in a pluck so soon

The furious ball of rage sets
and us (three!) need to return
-a lingering gaze for a moment too long,
cheeks of crimson and burn!
For too long have we tarried,
our hours have wasted the day
Find no longer a reason
nor any excuse to stay

Peer over the edge a last time
     (indecision, in control)
At the vast expanse of cerulean, sublime
     (pause to contemplate my goal)

Tucks the blooming rhod’ between a lock and an ear,
breathes, “it looks prettier still here,”
for another second holds ( ) near
and in parting’s ‘sweet sorrow’ starts to disappear

A gunshot echoing, a resounding sound,
as he turns away from the mead’.
His body slowly hits the ground,
and I know I’ve killed him dead.
For the first time, a lamenting tear’s grace
rolls down one side of my face
and all I see is red.


A gunshot, a second time, lying in bed,
*brow, hair, pillow- all soaked in red.

If music is defined as the art of sound that expresses ideas and emotions in significant forms,
then your voice, my dear,
is enough to make Beethoven writhe in his grave and long for the ability to listen to your *sweet, soothing melody

The past never happened
These memories are fake
Now please just except this
So I don't have to stay awake.

The world of sadness consuming my body, entring the relam of my soul, gards of my soul is tired, out of wepones, thier been in many battels, a blood bath became me.

There is a Force throughout the Universe:
The Mother of Creation shows us so.
Those “Star Wars” writers were spot on:
Their “Force” reflects the truth, I know.

The Force has hidden depths beyond our dreams,
Full of Goodness and a Dark Side too.
Space and Time mean Nothing to this Force,
So we can’t track it to its Source.

All We can do is Hope and Pray
That we do Pass if there’s a Judgement Day.

Paul Butters

....A Love of the heart beats in a timelessness. ..

True lovers are ancient in each-other,
they've slept inside one another's hearts, forgotten each-other, forgotten themselves, only to come back and wake up to fall asleep again in various forms across the ages.
Love is eternal,
transferring one life to another,
a reincarnated affair tricking us and challenging our knowing of self in order to come back to our very own gateway of truth.  

Love is seeing ourselves in another and given a gift to celebrate it,
through the beauty of another and as a reflection of your purest self,
you celebrate in Union.

Love is ancient, all lovers have lived inside each-other.
There's an unforgotten memory of the heart that knows
such Lovers share One beating heart
in two human shells.

...A Love of the heart beats in a timelessness...

I drew a circle in the sky,
traced the way between
knowingness and truth,
visited uncertainty and full fledged fear,
and somewhere along that way
I found you.
I stopped and stared as I'm prone to do,
and we held hands for mere minutes
until our fingers lost grip
and I lost a bet with Cupid.

I drew a circle on my chest
and I let all the world come near to see.