However improbable
I like to think that the multiverse theory is true
That for every choice we made
there are versions of us who made different ones,
and that for every lost opportunity
there is a whole another universe where we took a chance
The paradox will never end
the parallels will never cross
But I like to think that
somewhere out there
no matter how unreachable
there is a version of me
that still has you.

When you know you've lived
the exact present you're living now before,
doesn't it make sense to think of it as though...
there is another part of you in another universe,
going through the same thing?

I believe in the multiverse theory,
for I cannot prove that we are not alone.
I believe there is a reason why
I feel the skies talk to me every night.

I believe someone's message is reaching me
through the beams of the moon every night.
My skin seeps it in
like a flower knows to bloom.

Ever think of a time difference
between one universe and the other?
What if we are born here on Earth and after we die,
our soul travels to another universe
and relives the same story?

What if...
we are a horcrux of our own soul
which is split up and placed
in different universes?

As the sun sets across the horizon
I see how flat the earth is believed to be
From left to right my eyes scroll
Over the valley, rainbow, into a strange eternity

The golden chariots riding on the skyline
Booming chants of the future from another era
I attach myself to the story once heard before
Envisaging my former being as perhaps an ephemera

I relive the day, the noon till the night
As twilight beckons the nightingale's dawn
Saluting the sun from the heart of the lotus pond
For before, now and after are all from our own antiphon

maybe we were two lonely souls in an
infinite number of universes
that coexists at the same time
so in the least cases when other universes
cease to rotate;
we were looking at each other’s eye—
half consciously exchanging breaths as we stood
in a random street on a random time with random people
in Metro Manila.

maybe we were two lonely souls
devoid of life with its absurdities and ambiguities
that when other universes began to move—
adverse was ours.
we were motionless and breathless
and static and frantic
amongst the dismal place where we stood
under the rain and under the heat of the sun;
dear, did you feel the spontaneity of our souls
for the first time in a lifetime?

maybe we were two lonely souls
searching for our own universe in this
infinite number of universes that when
we finally had the chance to meet on
a road with nowhere to go while listening
to our timeless symphonies of pleasure, pain, and lost;
we found universe at each other’s soul.

maybe we were two lonely souls
before we met in Metro Manila.
maybe we were two lonely souls
when we were living in abyss.
maybe we were two lonely souls
before we found our infinite universe at each other.
maybe we were two lonely souls
before we knew love.

(06.19.16)

The greatness of Nature cannot be denied.
Her grandeur is plain for all to see.
Such sheer determination can only be admired.
See that tiny ***** on yonder rock face:
Some miniature plant has taken hold
Where nothing else could live.

We know that Mother Nature rules the Earth.
But what about the stars?
Billions of exoplanets wave at me
In my mind’s eye.
For life right here can thrive in boiling acid
And solid sheets of ice.

What scope for life is there out there,
Amongst the swirling galaxies
And gassy nebulae?
I tell you now:
There’s almost ENDLESS Opportunity
For life to evolve
Around this Universe
Alone.

Yes, she’s much, much more than “Mother Earth”:
More “Mother Multiverse”.
Mother Nature multiplied a million, million times.
Imagine That.

Paul Butters

I knew a girl that woke up on the wrong side of the bed.
The blankets coiled up her legs and laid upon her head.
She thrashed and pulled and shook them loose and looked around the place.
She blinked, astonished, finding she was up in outer space!
She tied the blankets 'round her neck and made herself a cape.
She floated, graceful, through the stars, embracing her escape.
They whispered secrets of the world and cosmic universe.
And sang her songs of times long passed, pure beauty in each verse.
The moonlight rained down onto her, caressed with silken light.
She swam through skies above it all, cape trailing with delight.
Her giggles echoed back by stars, her beautiful new friends.
She asked them if they'd let her stay, and never let this end.

Are they right?
Is our “Universe”
The Be All and End All?
Is it even the Only One?

Or is our universe one plume
In an infinite cloud of plumes?
One rocket in a great celestial
Fireworks display?

We may well ask.
And ponder on the notion this plume cloud
May be replicated
Countless times
In parallel dimensions:
A multiverse
Beyond our wildest dreams.

And God may be
A God
Amongst a Race of Gods:
The Greeks and Romans right,
After all.

Yet what matters most to us
When all is said and done,
I have to say,
Is none of that
But simply
Whatever happens here
On this little blue world
In this corner of
The Milky Way.

Paul Butters

Make-believe multiverses written in the
Rain
Petrichor
       Ichor
       Blood of (my) gods
Congeal. Thick. Rich, putrid poultry pan
                                                             ­           opticon
                                                                ­        theon
The bigger I am the smaller I am,
King of nutshells,
In ambition I beg--beggar butcher
Kingly kind **** beggar--look
In, give in, cave out implosion (my)  
God demands sacrifice; copper
liquid spills, fresh,
                                 Replace
                                               old blood
                                                                ­Regicide,
                                                     Warm
                                       running
                                 red
                         over
                Mars,
Vallies of dead bones they
Make a noise (crunch) like
Nutshells
Eggshells
                 White emaciated pale weathered withered
                 wothered wondered want I want I wont ...    

A  L I L Y  S T A N D S
In  v a n i t y  v a l l e y
G r e e n blue v i o l e t
T r e m b l i n g I--I am
Cold
       I can't feel my hands.
I rush rash rip stem
And all
Timeless life
                     Look how it not dies in my hands.
                       Look
                               I can't see
Unstuck by time trapped
In this eternity, make-believe,
Flower fickle, it is
A sentinel robbed of its post,
Eons past will pass before decay,
L I L Y ' S  F A I T H --Can't
Let go of this moment, just
Let it die in peace,
In v a n i t y  v a l l e y
Of bones dry dying...

When I wake up I see a man
Whose hands are open and eyes
Are free to wander.
He is royalty--a royal beggar,
A dry flower pierces
His heart--it rains
                               River
                                         run red
                                                      with
                                                              or­ange juice sun
Squeeze.
His hands on his sides.
On sand and seashells.
Open valley, horrible horizon.
Celestial cosmos ocean sky is
That it? Is that me?
Do I raise my hands or f
                                          a
                   ­                         l
                                      ­       l
                                              To the ground. Beg.
Where are my gods? This
Sun is too bright, I can't see.
The cold. I blow breaths of smoke.
Vapour vanish too
Cold. I can't feel my hands. Go
Back
Inside.

multiple universes appear like flowers
budding as if stuck in perpetual springtime
pollinating the perception of a passerby
bulbous lives floating along a breeze
ear buds plugged  to silence the scream
a dissonant chorus of opposing beliefs