Burning minds,
Brilliant minds
Different minds...

All of them writing the same old stuff,
Bowing themselves to the ancient knowledge,
Going to waste.

All of them stuck inside four walls,
25 of them:
Learning that passion and dreams are money!
Learning that power is freedom!
Thinking that peace is no war...

How fleeting their brilliance,
How wasted their genius,
How happy they are...ignorant,
How they despise madness and true humor,
How they accept the concrete walls!
How they feel one with the smoke and tar!
How they laugh at gibberish and lead
Sober, boring, small lives...
How they look at big cities
Instead of trees,
How they learn that beauty is a monstruous exuberance
Instead of passion, freedom and the simplicity of oneself
In the middle of every day circus.

Streams of flames
flew wildly off the pages
smiling a wicked smile
the boy drew madly
at a torrid pace
erecting wretched reptiles
with colored pencils
army projectiles
all aimed at taking
down the mighty,
green scaled dragon
but they always missed
not once or twice
every time, without fail
and the fierce dragon
swatted them down
with its horn ridged tail
what it didn’t swat
it melted away-
tanks and planes
soldiers burned easily
like plastic toys
anything sent its way
faced certain death and
was promptly devoured
which made the boy happier
and happier each time
he smiled brightly as
he drew his dragon again
under constant attack
larger and mightier
red ink dots stained his desk
with all the fire and blood
papers littered the floor
around him, each page the same
his dragon fought each day
and won each fight
and this helped the
boy who drew dragons
sleep better at night
then one day his teacher
sent a note home to his mother
signed “I NEED YOUR HELP!-
your son is not participating
only interested in drawing
his hideous dragons
parading violence and death
well beyond his age"
the years slowly passed on
and the boy who drew dragons
finally stopped drawing them
he went off to college
married a lovely, fair maiden
he landed an excellent job
with excellent pay
drove a fancy car
lived in a luxurious home
but the boy who drew dragons
never smiled anymore
not even once
because his dragon,
in the end,
was finally


Never kill the imagination of a child. Guard and protect it. Encourage and nurture it.

tell me you've been thinking of me
how you always preferred roses but you saw sunflowers in my room
and love never seemed less about romance
tell me how your mind aches for me as much as your body
but your knuckles grew white at the thought of his fingers on my skin
tell me what it's like to miss me in the chaos and not just at midnight
all of the words you don't know how to say and maybe that's why you fell in love with mine

Paul Butters Jun 12

I sit here again, my laptop on my knee,
Or rather, lay back in my armchair
Next to the lounge window.
Before me lies the clutter that is
My man cave.
If I just stare I see every little item
In glorious detail.

Yet even when asleep
I swear to you
I sometimes dream of scenes
Images of tables, cities or skies
Every bit as detailed as real life.

Which begs the question:
Where exactly IS this wonderful “Mind” of mine,
That can so accurately record and reproduce
Such multi-coloured panoramas?
Is it just “in my head”
As scientists assert,
Or is it located “somewhere out there”,
Even beyond the stars?

Am I merely squatting
In this body of mine
Until the day that I pass on?
And when I do pass over
Will my soul go whizzing down
Some spiritual “connection”
Back to where my mind is based?

I say again, we may all be but cameras,
Recording films and “programmes”
For other minds
Beyond this realm.
Even for Angels.
For it’s only through US
That this marvellous universe
Is brought to life.

Paul Butters

My sleeping dreams have disturbed me again.

They make up for you the human condition
They create the world, how it came up,
And put matters simple
They oppress and suppress thought
Rendering it brittle
They constantly tie you to the ground
To the rotten roots grown in hatred.

Saints appear all over the place
                        Yet GOD is the only idol
                        And humans equally special...they say;
They propagate and infect children with their diseased minds
                             Yet 'belief is liberating'
                             And never CORRUPT and pure.

Oh father, sweet sweet 'padre',
I almost forgot:
                            How many infants have you devoured lately?

Dedicated to all the rotten "souls" of the church

I have a potion
to read minds
called sixth sense.

Sun Jun 5

I wonder how many minds never cried looking at dying plants

I wonder how many people truly smiled with a smile in thier eyes

I wonder how many hearts truly loved each other

I wonder how many souls wanted to meet in each dawn forever but never seen again

I wonder how many forever was just a few moments away

Poets don't have the answers for all the World's problems.
Poets often know how to ask the right QUESTIONS,
But it's up to people
With different types of minds
To solve the problems.

This website,
is full of great minds
with great thoughts
new ideas
equipped with words and rhymes  
to inspire me  
help me write
one or more lines
each day

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