A butterfly
in rain—
it is not wet
but undone
with too much cloud
not enough
sky.

Its wings—
thin pamphlets
of joy
silk slick
as sermon pages
in a storm.

Each flap
a soaked insistence—
up
up—
but no purchase
on the wet air.

Hope—
makes poor shelter
but it wears it
anyway.

A bit of Black.
A piece of Scarlet.
There's no turning back.
When I place my rings upon you
nothing is beyond my grasp.
Each rotate to became the main body of it.
In place of angels
the hand of friendship
forms a pattern on the wall.
It's there to remind us
we're all sitting targets.

I have always had an aversion to it
I would blurt out the worst
If you would show me pretence
Of care
Of love
Of togetherness
Of being one
No no don’t do that
I am old now
Enough to understand
Pretence
I won’t blurt out things
I wouldn’t put up to it
My duties fulfilled
There I am done
Now I know
Pretence

the swan flew by
on a lonely flight home
the water reflecting her peace

You still look like you, minus the fire
With your non-skid socks
Arms attached to barb wires

A robe drenched in dead skin
Eyes sunkin in
Slept for a year, but still tired

When you speak, it's eratic
Others hear it as static
I always know what you mean

You long to go home
Where you weren't so alone
But it's disappeared it would seem

For now, they still visit
But they'll drift and won't miss it
As it's all too depressing to see

You will disappear
No one gets better here
The next stop is eternity