We are spiders that fly on silk
Each strand put out to snare
Some seemingly solid structure;
A branch we may build a web on,
Or the windshield of a moving car.

Our goal is a perfect circle,
The web that bears its own foundations -
The guarantee that we no longer have to glide,
When branches fall
Or whole trees begin to drift into the air.

With each cast we amputate
A single silken limb;
And lose a little of our weight.

We reduce and suffer,
But still we send great tracks of gossamer,
Like checkered see-through wings,
To search the sky;
How else could we capture flying things,
And drink their memories of flight?

We flew once or twice ourselves,
And friends that build on flimsy branches
Assure us
That flying is more beautiful
First hand.

But some of us believe
In eating flight;
For flight is life,
And when you eat life,
It dies,
And death is real,
And death wants to be alive.

So we try to build circles,
As we can think of nothing else,
That could bear the weight,
Of meals that teach invincible demise;
Of flies that we can drink eternally,
Who will tell us always,
That flight both lives and dies.

Occasionally, we catch the like -
Great butterflies like birds,
These guests we gladly drink for years,
That eat and grow besides us,
As banquets of prey
Fall fast on our deep-woven webs;
Enticed to suicide
By the net that's built from butterfly.

Sometimes, if we cannot build enough,
Then web and body and captive bug
Together are nudged,
By the demon eating life and death,
Whose name is silent hunger.

In fear, our captives struggle,

And sometimes,

They break free.

And then, we utter that awesome plea
That only spinning creatures know,
The unjustly beautiful:
'Come back to me!'

And sometimes,

They do not come back -

And webs decay -

And fall to earth -

And riding them,
We wonder:
'How dared I build this clinquant web?
Or drink to death
That vagrant butterfly?'

We suppose:
'In the end, as it struggled,
I forgot myself,
And spun enormous rails of binding anchorage,
To keep it on the line;
I forgot the earth,
And now I've felt the bloated eyes of silent hunger,
Who lives in life and death,
And draws them both as slaves in chain
To tend its nature,
Which is the hunt and prey,
By night or blind,
Of crawling, flightless game.'

We panic:
'If I eat one maggot on the earth,
And my health is restored,
Will I remember then
The state I knew when first I flew?
What then, if my feet stay grounded?
For now I also know
That hunger waits
Beside great flying things,
And I fear the sky,
And I fear the trees,
And the web that builds inside my heart;
I fear it all,
And stay on earth,
And eat the dirt,
That looks most like
My brilliant mortal butterfly.'

Our terrors muster, sheer and stark:

'What if, by my nature's mark,

I am not born to eat the sky?'

The choice is yours:

Spin or die.

(A poem about wisdom's role in life and death)

gently breezing
by my face
you dance upon
the morning sky,

patterned lace,
I watch
as it just passes by,

but he is just
so beautiful,
he entrances
every eye,

a lovely little
floating wisp
in the form
of butterfly,

on the air
so clean an crisp,
I wave a hand
but no goodbye

an not a single grieving tear
not a tear for me to cry,

as I know
I will definitely
see you again
one day.

Ma Cherie © 2017

Idk just thinking. About someone who died awhile back. Love you all. Trying to see work consumed by life tho ;/ lol muah muah x ❤❤❤

Maybe it was your smile that caught me
A typical smile that could light up a room
The one that awakens the butterflies
The one that makes the sparks fly

Or maybe it was your beautiful eyes
Those orbs I could get lost in
It twinkles likes a star in the night
It mirrors your very soul

Or maybe it was your laugh
The one that is so loud and contagious
My favorite melody of all
I could listen to it all day

Or maybe it was your voice
It is of an angel's
You love talking and I love it
It soothes me everytime I hear it

Infinite reasons could be written down
But all I know is one thing
I love you and not just a part of you
It is your whole being I am inlove with

I will not be just a beautiful flower for people to look at, for someone to snatch away from its roots... not water it, and then be left to die in the sunlight...
I will however, be a beautiful butterfly... always wild and intriguing... difficult to catch... I will fly around discovering new adventures... wonderful places to admire... I will write my own fate... my own path to follow...

And I'll know when I've found my person... because I will not be trapped to be turned into someone's trophy just to be admired ... I will be let to fly freely, with the understanding that I will always return happily to my love one's arms.

Today I'm getting a tattoo called ... wild beautiful chaos ❤
Donna Jones Jun 16

I see butterfly
Softly gently fluttering
Upon a dark cloud

Shofi Ahmed Jun 11

Like a
southern song singing on a dream scene.
a smooth fairy dance facing the Moon
a thrill of exposing Stonehenge once and for all
a melodious raindrop in the serene pond
a butterfly dance on the rose
a turned on tall tale of the blue peacock
Like a pure belief in heaven without a pinch of salt!

Donna Jones Jun 4

Lilac butterfly
Gently softly fluttering
I miss your sweet words

I've seen a few lilac butterflies in the last few weeks up in the Kent area and It made me think of this senryu :) dedicated to my nanny Rose
Antionicia May 29

To be honest...
I've always wanted to fly, not like a bee...
Or even a bird!
But like a Butterfly...
I long to beat my wings, long to take flight.
I dream of touching the clouds…
Being one with the sky.
Some days... I wish I could escape. Some days... I wish I could leave...
But I'm not a butterfly…
I'm not some magical creature who can't even see her beautiful wings... No.
I'm a pitiful human living in this world with other pitiful beings...
Oh how I wish I could fly...

Spoilt butterfly on a platter
disoriented dishes, despised stutters

Numb chord played on her rib cage, rusty filer
bitten maroon heart fiddles into a chopper, bitten liar

Drink grey wine under its skin, sweet prey on a knife taper
my blood flutters a dead butterfly, black, woven on a white paper

Shofi Ahmed May 22

Hidden within the earthy depth
only emerges with time
only dances in tangent
now slips out with the butterflies.  
Now the nightingales singing aloud!

One has spoken out, one blew
a kiss out off the dark seed.
Ah, what then broke through?
Up from the sky the blue-nymph  
dropped down on the scene!
One that hid blurring that's image
on the mirror is that now been seen?

Pouring rain singing down to primulas
Paints it with all the colours of the wind
now the Spring picked up her paintbrush.

Rain some colour blow a kiss of the flower
paint it out of the mirror!

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