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 May 2017 Paul Butters
Carlyy
I'm no longer consumed
with doubt
Or envy.
                                             
    It took light years

When it comes to them,
I just felt ugly inside.
They were happy,
And I was not.

                                            I'm past that now

It's the hole in my heart.
Shovelled out,
and mangled,
by your negligent hands

                                           Time healed me

Those very hands,
Connected to that pair of arms
once held me so close,
I could feel my heart smile.
                                    
                     ­               Let's skip the "but now's"

Attached to the same body,
A voice uttered my name,
Every so often,
Just to make sure  

                                  Once upon a time, that is.

It bewilders me
YOU bewilder me.
Things are clearer about you
But foggier in how I should see you

If I can handle you,
I can handle all

You misplaced me but I found myself
Tell me what you think, please?
 May 2017 Paul Butters
ryn
Fragile
 May 2017 Paul Butters
ryn
careless fingers,
they will
always take.
they never
will learn that...
fragile hearts
don't just break.

so brittle they crack
under pressure.
then into
a million shards,

they
shatter.
Let's take a leap,
From this precipice,
Hoping that my wings,
Will guide our journey,
As we slowly glide,
Into our new beginning.
Trying Trying
to think something
positive

Really trying
to not be depressing
today

Trying Trying
really hard
to not start crying

Trying Trying
to continue trying
trying
I'm also trying to makes something better than this
Three and four times
Delved down in the mind
Wether their dreams or another's
They did not know for sure

Somewhere in those depths
Of distant realities and mindless dreams
Lies the greatest truth of all
Which is what those beings sought

Once human but no longer
Did they search their dreams
And the dreams of sleeping gods
To secure that ancient knowledge

But the further their sorceries brought them
The madder they became
Until nigh all of them succumbed
To a dark sickness of the mind

Trapped within those lost and sable dreams
Do those inhumans yet remain
Having forgotten the very thing
Their broken minds searched for

Should you encounter one of them
Those ancient weavers of dreams
Be careful that you are not also dragged down
Into that madness along with them
The wise know where a hero stands--
upon the shoulders of another man.
Or a woman. Truth be told,
there’s more to legends than what we’re sold.
There’s a legion behind every famous one:
Footsoldiers, workers, slogging from sun to sun.
They build the movement that changes history--
collective action—not Him; it’s We.
Or the art, or invention, of ground-breaking power,
from a  “genius” who above us does tower.
His inspiration is the work of others,
connected souls-- sisters and brothers.
Each weaves a strand of the magic thread.
From hundreds of others the genius is fed.
He finishes work with skillful design,
then sometimes falsely claims “it’s mine.”
PF re-post. Idols are fun, but humanity is only successful because of cooperative action.
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