I don't know how to tell you friend
don't feel like sayin' much at all
these days my words seem make-pretend
perhaps my pride before the fall
It's not unusual for me
to write a song without regard
for all the souls in misery
to play the sap, or happy card
but now I know just how it feels
wet sand is cold like soft concrete
and I can sit and dig my heels
'til burying my loathsome feet
and standing now without a keel
high tide they say, is coming in
I dig to break the salty seal
to free my legs to walk again....
unsocial social butterfly
finds a sunlit place to rest
the lightest breeze will pass her by
and stir again the vacant nest
she's seen a fairly ugly past
hung in, the pillar of her peers
and now the warming rays alas
will dry her bitter butter tears
and staring now, just down below
the spider's web has never freed
but pitched a battle, awesome show
which spoke again to butter's need
The words we tend to weave within
dark thoughts can surely build a wall
to block the sun and thickly spin
our pride, so fierce before the fall...
and caterpiller's stiff cocoon
gave place for wings like silk adorned
with patterns, colored matching moons
in darkened place her future formed
I speak in words, which make it real
the stuff, it all comes pouring out
a substance formed and packed with zeal
for all the things I talk about
but some not nice have taken flight
and reaching, caught within your net
like thunder in your morning; light
I spoke too soon and now regret
sometimes I tend to overthink
and miss the point, that awesome prize
I sleep, awaken, eat and drink
yet somehow came to realize
That YOU, my very precious one
sweet salty butterfly of grace
a brand new life has finally come
and gee, I LOVE that butter face!
It's not unusual for me
to write a song without regard
for all the souls in misery
to play the sap, or happy card
but more unusual to write
a poems which ends without a word
the butterfly in silent flight
the sweetest thing I've ever heard.... :)
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 9:30 AM UTC
I don't know how to tell you friend
don't feel like sayin' much at all
these days my words seem make-pretend
perhaps my pride before the fall
It's not unusual for me
to write a song without regard
for all the souls in misery
to play the sap, or happy card
but now I know just how it feels
wet sand is cold like soft concrete
and I can sit and dig my heels
'til burying my loathsome feet
and standing now without a keel
high tide they say, is coming in
I dig to break the salty seal
to free my legs to walk again....
unsocial social butterfly
finds a sunlit place to rest
the lightest breeze will pass her by
and stir again the vacant nest
she's seen a fairly ugly past
hung in, the pillar of her peers
and now the warming rays alas
will dry her bitter butter tears
and staring now, just down below
the spider's web has never freed
but pitched a battle, awesome show
which spoke again to butter's need
The words we tend to weave within
dark thoughts can surely build a wall
to block the sun and thickly spin
our pride, so fierce before the fall...
and caterpiller's stiff cocoon
gave place for wings like silk adorned
with patterns, colored matching moons
in darkened place her future formed
I speak in words, which make it real
the stuff, it all comes pouring out
a substance formed and packed with zeal
for all the things I talk about
but some not nice have taken flight
and reaching, caught within your net
like thunder in your morning; light
I spoke too soon and now regret
sometimes I tend to overthink
and miss the point, that awesome prize
I sleep, awaken, eat and drink
yet somehow came to realize
That YOU, my very precious one
sweet salty butterfly of grace
a brand new life has finally come
and gee, I LOVE that butter face!
It's not unusual for me
to write a song without regard
for all the souls in misery
to play the sap, or happy card
but more unusual to write
a poems which ends without a word
the butterfly in silent flight
the sweetest thing I've ever heard.... :)
..."being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.: Phil 1:6
