It is this day,
                                 today,
                       that we lose. We lose the skies
                  and everything goes.
                     We go to the clouds. Nothing
                                       matters there.
            We are like the man laying in the ditch
                      ***** in his hands. Cold, wrinkled
                                              fingers.
 ­  The woman, arms wrapped,
                                        tightly,
       ­                              around the toilet bowl
                                           Now limp
                        in her grave.
                                                         We, collectively, lie
    looking to the skies. That's where we'll be...
                                                           ­               soon.
                                            ­                   The air,
                                                       full of smog
                                                            ­           will
                                                            ­                  clear.
                                        ­              That is not a hope
                                                            ­                      it's a
                                                                ­              Promise.

I am
the fading ghosts of fingerprints on cold windows,
the colors blooming ever so slowly in the sky at dawn,
the murmuring voices of family through walls of safety

I am
the sun that meets your waves at the horizon, no matter how far it seems,
the warm breeze wandering down from clouds to caress your arms,
the comfort of lost doodles and poetry in the quiet of night

But it all changes when I see the oceans that are your eyes,
and the warmth that is your soul, bared free for me to see
the hand holds and careful gazes that we share,
the knowledge of “together” and just being there

I feel beauty in ways that are impossible to describe.

But I can try,
try to put these feelings into words,
just for you

I’ve been trying to leave in silence
Escape the ruthless routines
Take my belongings and run off in to the sky
Hide my fears and escape before sunrise
But every time I find myself half way there
The ground grips my feet and my eyes start to stare
And I find myself entranced by the wonders of the universe
For every time I run, I come back for another day
I try to leave in silence but I can’t seem to escape
every time I try, the stars block my way
And they always take me home, where my heart tends to stay

Do not take glory from conquests and wins
Or climbing stairways into ivory towers.
Rather, take glory in Mother Nature’s work
And glorious sunrises and sunsets.

Oh those sun-down colours: reds and golds,
Deep purples backed by azure blue hues.
Every sunset unique
Like every swirl of clouds.

Yes every sky is different.
My mind makes pictures from those clouds
Except on days of formless, fathomless mists.

Beneath these skies
We have a lovely vista
Of trees and savannah.
Satellites show us a wondrous world
Full of amazing sights.

But best of all we have
People
And animals
Of all kind.

Folks with whom to share
This glory
The real glory,
Every day we waken
To greet the new bright day.

Paul Butters

© PB 29\5\2019.

floating...
white noise...
coldness...
so bright...

numbness...
closed eyes...
speechless...
too much...

white clouds...
vast skies...
bound here...
can't fly...

smiling...
hurting...
frozen...
lying...

moving..
stilln­ess...
turning...
falling...

so weak...
so sick...
so meek...
so wrong...

"be busy"...
"be something"...
I get it...
I'm nothing...

nowhere to go...
running away...
I wish for...
a gentle place...

dreamless...
wretched...
childish...
end this...

"move on"...
"can't die"...
who decided that...

breathing,
drowning;

loving,
killing;

crying,
living;
­
crowded,
lonely;

what's the difference

never has the sky looked down
and declared that today,
dreamers must find new sights to see;
that birds must find
new places to be.

never has the sky decided
that a million wires
are enough lines to cut across
its silken expanses,
he always makes room for more -
neatly dividing spaces
that everyone is allowed to
dream in.

and so you ask me,
why the wires to cut in
to his beauty?

and i'll say,
it's because he knows exactly
how they carry words to him,
which may otherwise
never be said again.