I understand that leaves will fall,
And nothing will be there for a moment,
Or so I'm told.

Nothing is happening twice
And some things will never happen,
But you wouldn't know it.

I met this girl with beautiful eyes, which were constantly looking somewhere behind me. Probably she was imagining herself a better me, a me of tomorrow. So, I decided to stay overnight in this town, just in case.

Oh God, I'm happy in this morning,
Being free of problem solving,
Living loving the road I'm hitting,
The misery I'm passing through.


Oh, how I would be free to suffer
Other mornings and another,
Filled with oh-such charming pattern,
Being happy after all.


Oh happy! Seeing all gifts that matter,
A marrow and a loving mother,
Ever radiating on the darker-darker
Sight that I'm still having though.


Oh, the obscure morrow and yester -
All those possible disaster
Are enlightened and farther- farther
Now.


Oh God, I'm happy in the now-happening;
I wish this moment pending padding,
I would leave all those doubtful setting'
And resting for ever in a now.

Even a blind man sits and says,
Ay I see
And the deaf man says,
Oh I was told by a little birdy.
For they understand more,
About the torment of life and love.
Yet the dead still live,
In the darkness of the light above.
Still dead in love,
And living in hate.
All the time in the world;
End it now?...
I think it's too late.
Everything's fine.

A massive moth outside in the night
Flings itself at
My bathroom window.
Another Icarus
Sorely tempted by the electric light within
My house.

A swooping vulture
It tries again and again,
Fracturing its fragile wings:
Battering itself to exhaustion.

Perhaps it curses some Moth God
And feels a failure in life,
Totally frustrated
At not being able to reach its imperative goal.
Not knowing
That had it succeeded
It would now be
Incinerated.

Paul Butters

© PB 25\8\2019.

Buried beneath the same old memories
     Are the papyrus and the paper scraps

The kind which will be eventually tossed
     Just to settle upon the winds of trash

But even still in stillness found
     Like a dream born near in this reality to pass

Though it’s a beautiful and ironic sight
     I am sleeping on your memory at last

i let my hair down for you
because that's how you like it
tousled in my face
imitating life's chaos
a chaos we cling to
because we don't know any different

still telling ourselves
that we crave stability
but we know how the story goes
seeking comfort
loathing change
forgetting that our comfort lies in pain

imposters we've become
pawns in our own game
having yet to learn
that bliss only follows
those who let go

enduring a new kind of angst
but only for a moment
then letting it pass
and living to adore it