Sweet Butterfly, with wings now dry 'tis time to break away
and light upon the leaves of dawn while weeping willows sway,
not reminisce 'bout chrysalis discarded yesterday,
but treasure life, with colors rife in nature's cabaret.

Sweet Butterfly, you sometimes sigh "terrene so strange and new”,
but take a chance, with winged expanse of fairy-like bijou,
to taste delight in random flight, to drift beyond the blue
and then collect her naked nectar, sipped in morning dew.

Sweet Butterfly, you question why the breeze is seldom soft
when swirling you, your wings askew, while floating free aloft.
Some seem to find their peace of mind believing gods have coughed,
but others, downed, have often found more freedom when they've scoffed.

Sweet Butterfly, you needn't cry, the fields are full of clover,
and meadowlands bare braided strands that winds in waves flow over -
but if you fear that, more than here, another mead is mauver,
just flutter by, beneath the sky, unfettered flitting rover.

Sweet Butterfly, farewell, goodbye, you've left this world behind.
I oft gaze back along the track of flowers that you've mined
recalling days of light sashays and movements unconfined
that complement the firmament where beauty lies enshrined.

When I was fourteen
my sister was teaching me how to drive,
I went to make a left turn and hit the breaks; second guessing myself.
“Never hesitate,” she said,
“it’s when you hesitate that causes a crash.”
“Make a decision and go with it.”
All these years later it still rings true.
All these years later I still have yet to listen.

I've heard people say love doesn't exist,
And by some definitions, maybe it doesn't exist.
But seriously, if you look at it this way,
People take pleasure in making other people happy.
Not all people sure. Some people are wired wrong,
Sadists and homicidal obsessives, actively serve
What I would call hate. Yet they do so with seeming indifference.
But, on average, the joy of giving joy exists, on some form.
Even ego-centric actors and politicians,
Who seem to be driven by selfish goals,
But even they take a measure of pleasure,
When a fan says "Hey I saw you guys in the Meadowlands,
And you rocked, best concert of my life!"
Or,
"Senator Williams, I just wanted to thank you personally
For the kind words you said about my son,
It brought some closure to our loss."
When you have a particular person who you enjoy pleasing,
And who you know enjoys pleasing you,
Well , what do you call that?
Take it a step further, and add the fact, that when that person is hurting
You hurt. Their pain
Becomes yours.
Now, occasional petty jealousy aside,
Isn't it fair to call that feeling something?
Call it love, call it Love, call it Tigger Yum Yum,
Whatever.
But don't deny it exists.
Because I've seen it with my own eyes.
And I believe them before I believe silly lies.

If a monster like me could find that feeling,
And live inside of it...
Anyfuckingbody can.

Wishing I could avast
Everything that happens so fast
Dreaming of ourselves beneath thy clouds
Rolling and laughing between those strouds

I was holding his soft hands
We were lying on the meadowlands
Leaned on my broad shoulders
When he avowed that "I must be stronger".

Days had never been this lovely
All I can hear is our hearts' on melody
However the music went go wrong
His last smile was the last song

Lips became pale as rose
It can't even make a single prose
His eyes slowly close
This is not the future we chose

Wished that I could avast
Everything happened so fast
Wanted to take his last breath
But All I can give is this **wreath for his death

When the butterfly has flown the lily graced flower
That has been the family home for generations upon generations,
Whose petals have protected against mites for decades;
When she has left with no intention of looking back over one jaded ruby wing
To reminisce upon all she's leaving behind
Between the silken walls of her childhood home;
That's when the community begins to judge her.

Scarlet wings gallantly breezing through the air with nary an effort, she glides above the rest, destination unknown.
Laughs, sneers, jeers, and scorn rise from the ground below her gravitating form like smoke from a house fire.

~She's afraid of her past.

~Her family must have disowned her.

~It's her own fault, anyways.

High above them, she still hears everything, but pretends not to. After all, life will soon be her oyster, far away from this place.

Far away from the crowds of rude sociality that insist upon knowing every last detail about her life and pursuits, morphing her most sacred details into gossip fit for the common lunch table at the Meadowlands Cafe.

Far away from the friends who helped her grow until she realized her wings were too large and beautiful to hide or fit within the confines of this dulling, lifeless community.

And far, far, far away from the smoldering smoke that emanated from the last tulip at the Far East side of the community, the burning of leaf and petal that had prompted her leaving once and for all.

Scarlet like her wings, her past has gone up in flames. Soon, the butterfly is past the scorning and pointing of fingers and into the wild unknown. Only here does she bite her lip and look back, against her better judgement. And then she smiles.

All that's left of her past is a cloud of bad memories mixed with the haze of gossip and the smoke from a home that never felt like it was her own.

So she pushed on. Scarlet flutters through turquoise until she disappears, a red blob on the hazy horizon.

She has overcome. And she is free.

Autumn give me your mists
and your warm soil,
squirrel pledge your kernels
of deciduous brown,
soon tall shadows
ply their density,
whilst the arcane wind is hazy,
as it soft-pedals on the meadowlands,
time picks the gourds of Autumn.

What do Vintage and Antique have in common?
Here’s a clue, a Hound Bus with a yesteryear start
So the clue wasn’t any help you say
It’s the Greyhound Mack Bus 1931
The Front could be considered something from the Ford Model-T
So since the secret is out, and you now know what I am talking about
There were many variations of the 1931 Mack, but some with my liking is the Camel Hair seat and even a little Seat in the middle of the aisle for a little Tot

But Dazzle in the sleek Navy Blue and White
The 1931 Mack is quite a sight
It has a unique look
Imagine Mr. MAGOO calling the Hound Bus Mack 1931 a road hog
But the Mack’s response would be “My Headlights flashing in stating never forget as it is a Vintage in the Greyhound Fleet”
Now that is really neat
But I have seen the 1931 Mack Hound Bus up close and personal
It was 2014 at the Meadowlands in New Jersey celebrating Greyhound’s 100th Anniversary and the 1931 Mack was exactly the way it was always pictured
But wait, there’s more
I have a Toy Model of the Mack 1931 Bus Burlington Trailways in my Personal Bus Collection, and it is made out of Plywood and the Greyhound 1931  Dieast
Well time really moved fast, and our journey did last
As a Buddy to Buddy would say, “So long Mack”.