My heart, even though already dust,
Somehow continues to break...
And it hurts!
It ****** **** as heck hurts...
And tears seem to be flowing from my dried eyes,
As if my eyes were not dry at all.
The millions of pieces of my heart scrape at my innards,
Almost forcing me to scream,
But I make sure barely a whisper moves out of my lips.
Not because I'm afraid to, but rather I prefer to keep it to myself.
Because no person's there for me anymore...

Don’t ask me to pass the assonance assessment
Or time my rhyming to make you smile.
Alliterative pieces I’m proud to produce
After pondering, my pretty person.

No I’d rather be free
When I write poetree (lol).
Must write with meaning,
So don’t be demeaning,
Even if you are screaming.

Existence, God, Love, People –
They’re what I write about.
Oft without form.
Just enjoy.

Gorgeous gold glory starts the story
That ends with a tune under the moon…

Paul Butters

© PB 20\9\2015.

LIFE AND I

Life sends me an invitation
‘ Let’s have a conversation’
  I decline without hesitation-
‘ I need not your explanation’.

Enough conversation I have had
With my own heart---in every season--
Words are but shadows of truth, they cajole
Must everything have a reason?

I should be as empty
As the open sky
I should dwell in wordless nature
I should not ask: Why?

How calm is the dusk
How serenely does the night fall
I wake, I work, I sleep, I dream---
Only that I know---it’s my all-in-all.

Written in the tram to the city

MY RELIGION

My religion bears no name
Carved in  the depth of my heart it speaks not ,
only replays
Past scenes that made me weep-
(Long forgotten and loneliest of days)

Their spectre they do raise still-
What I  am now and was
Becomes the testament of my faith
In silence I once bore my cross

But I would not count as my loss
All that had  filtered through my life
I resurrected from my ruins
Unburdened every load and overcome every strife.

For clemency I beseech not
Though I recognise I am most unworthy
My religion is the mirror of my life
The very face of my own humanity.

the world is so backward
being forward puts you behind
looking upward, toward the heavens
hoping to find an outward shine

I was made to weather the storm
First steel frame constructed with intent
Then mold carved in alabaster with curves to make even a blind man sigh
I have never turned away from a challenge
The closest thing to sand and stone
In me are love and fear
One, if allowed, can wear you down
The other stop you cold
Neither have hindered my great regard for growing
For learning
Both have left their mark in my eyes
Still smiling even after the light has dimmed
My frailties are not on display
You will never see me begging at your door for scraps
I know how to forage, I know how to hunt
Table set by my own hands

i am the stone that is thrown
that hits the water
causing a ripple
a tiny wave
across a giant ocean
touching shore
washing over tiny particles
molecules and micro-organisms
drowning some
bringing life to others