There was a blue butterfly,
At my sill I saw it land,
And felt an emotion then,
That I try to understand.

The next day I returned,
And my blue friend did appear,
Not with awe inspiring flight,
But with crippling despair.

A ripped wing made flight hard,
Still it tried to fly in vain,
I watched with sorrow here,
On this side of the window pane.

I thought of all the butterflies,
And wondered why they fly,
The ground is so much safer,
Yet I always see them try.

Some torn from the air by wind,
Others stunted during growth,
But like them we all must live,
Flying high as if by oath.

I saw two butterfly flying side by side when all I can do is watching.
I think why those butterflies flying around in joy when all I can do is watching?
why?
I wanna fly too.
fly straight to your arms.
hold me until I feel there's no use for flying because your arms is enough to make me believe I'm already flying

If I was lucky, some people would make up stories like I had a crush on him and He had a crush on me and We lived happily ever after.

But we all know that's not going to happen.

So I'm just going to crush the butterflies. **** them before they **** me.

Because let's be real,
He'll forget about me.
And I'll forget about him.

And I'll go on with my life,
Dragging down a list (+1) of men that happened to walk by.

The sun went to bed angry.
It sliced itself on the razor's edge of the mountains. Bleeding all over the sky. Rivulets of blood seeping down into the dry River beds. Mars couldn't even soothe it. He glowed red in the sky. Its fury made the moon blood.

Then the sun woke up on the wrong side of the sheets. Dawn was depressed and looked like sludge. Morose clouds muffle my breath. Weakened my lungs cry out for air... And find only fog. The kind of fog that gives you asthma. I have COPD in my emotions, and dust has seeped into my brain.

I call out to the only relief I know. My words bounce off the sky. But later that day a single sunbeam burst through the clouds,  highlighting a pair of butterflies dancing together.

God moves in mysterious ways his wonders to perform...


SoulSurvivor
(C) 8/15/2016

Let's say
Hypothetically
Someone was
Keeping score
And I had a
Perfect
Unsurpassed
Record.

In that case
There would be
Three hundred and twelve
Pieces of paper
Somewhere
In my house with
Five to thirteen lines of
Text on each of them.

And then suppose
Five and thirteen averaged
Out to somewhere between
Seven and eight.

Then do the math
And tell me what seven or eight
Times three hundred and twelve is
And then think about how
For each line of text on each
Sheet of paper
There is another
Sheet of paper in some
Binder somewhere
Or a pile in the righthand
Corner of my room.

And remember
I'm just one person.

And then think
About the butterfly effect.

Do you know
What happens
In the mail room
When you're not around?

Do you know
Who uses the copier
In the dead of night
Or the morning dawn?

Do you know
Where we go
When we
Die?

Or even
Why we're
All alive
To begin with?

It's sure
As hell

(Or should I say
As unsure as hell
Because no one can
Agree on anything
Even a universal a
Concept as hell)

That we're not living
To make paper
To print out our
Personal whims on.

And then think
About the butterfly effect.

I am clinging tight on this superficial feeling.
I caught a butterfly and I am keeping it for safekeeping.

It doesn't guarantee an eternal life,
of bliss,
of fruitfulness.
It doesn't even guarantee a year of existence.

But it gives me hope,
of joy, to welcome the day,
It gave me a reason for today.

out of my cocoon
bracing life through startled eyes
butterfly takes flight