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Shofi Ahmed Jul 2018
My sea is far away
let's meet closer anywhere
under the one same cloud.

My blue water is for the sun.
I sing beneath the wave.

My rose is for the show
I am imbued in the fragrance.
Love is in the air
the scent wafts into my heart.

My sky is open wide
beyond the rainbow
beyond the peacock's eyes.
It hugs the earth
reaching out far afar.

Catch it too
see from beneath the blue.
It casts the birdseye
slips out a butterfly!
A poem from my upcoming book Qun: Love is Unconditional
Shofi Ahmed Nov 2017
Sometimes the day smiles
shows me its colour.
No, then the wild blue yonder
doesn’t look to be far
I feel like I got the wings to fly.

But who would sway away
when the rose under the nose
floating on a sea of colour?

The luminary punter too
drops down from the sky.
Paints the broad daylight
as it sails down on its silky way.

Ah, the southern breeze
bends with the rose of the day
peeps in the colour before my eyes.
I could only see missing my butterfly.
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
Hidden within the earthy depth
only emerges with time
only dances in tangent
now slips out with the butterflies.  
Now the nightingales singing aloud!

One has spoken out, one blew
a kiss out off the dark seed.
Ah, what then broke through?
Up from the sky the blue-nymph  
dropped down on the scene!
One that hid blurring that's image
on the mirror is that now been seen?

Pouring rain singing down to primulas
paints it with all the colours of the wind
now the Spring picked up her paintbrush.

Rain some colour blow a kiss of the flower
paint it out of the mirror!
I believe it was the sawdust of summer when I found your voice in a shadow of a song it reminded me of my past hurt. You sang so beautifully of lilacs and photogenic water, you build harmonies powerful enough to save angels in a storm.

Quickly I caught on and held tight to your butterflies you called lyrics. You spoke of love like you had a doctrine in it. I thought for men love was a learning curve. You proved me wrong. You did not just create music and magic you birth colors out of sound and called them stories.

You blurred the lines between reality and fantasy. I bet your music is similar to the way God speaks. I bet you discovered a guitar inside of a black deity and the piano inside of a white devil's broken heart.  

Prince, I bet you can play anything even the fossils of flowers.
Your music is an endless drug, a purple high. Listening to you made me feel like all four seasons cuddled up with a kiss.
Tell me when did you get tired of playing love songs?

When did balancing the moon and a microphone become all too much for you? Who choked the life out of your vocal chords? ****, I would give almost anything to hear you live again! To wear you songs in my ears like Heirlooms.  Oh Wait, I think I get it. Is this how you go beyond means of self to teach us dead silence is music too?
Shofi Ahmed Mar 21
Spring upon the rose
live on the flow.
Be wrapped in the fragrance
touch it not.
Let it be without a form
even in the invisible dark
shows up a moon.
And believe it or not
that all perfect sweet spot
planet paradise could be the next stop.
Like the flower thins out into the fragrance
ah, these finest wings know no bound.

The butterfly paradise slips out is on the fly
wafts into the enduring scent of a paint so bold.
Lo, on its picturesque wings it has all the eyeballs
where does it reach out to no one knows.
It's on the other side of the pool
only the Queen Fathima knows that sweet spot!

No one tolerates any pause is deadly on this route
here death is unknown but none can touch the bottom!
It’s a Mount Sinai scenario no eyeball
can withstand the dazzling beauty enduring long.
Yet it’s immaculately spotless every soul shines out all in all
that shuffles on these secret alleyways of God!

Pans out to the horizontal spread
and feels deep dips into the depth.
Flower in the fire, the sea in a drop of water
Hewn beauty Fathima is the far cry
water nymph amidst the mesmerised burnt-flock.
The resident handsome swan in heaven
on the constantly flowing riverfront  
keeping it on its toe!
Kevin J Taylor Oct 2015
Oh—Butterfly!
Folding, unfolding—Away!
Up up down up—Ha!
Hannah Sep 2017
Entry ~
I know you're scared. You should be scared. You're taking a huge leap of faith leaving the only "home" you've ever known. But that home you built isn't four walls, and a solid tin roof. It's your soul. It's that thumping in your chest that keeps you awake at 2am. It's the memories you've stored, locked away tight behind steel bars, because god only knows if those bars weren't there those memories would hit you like the eye of a storm. Calm at first, sweet, but then painful, like shards of glass beneath your feet. And I know how much it hurts to leave. To walk away from so many unresolved things. To remove yourself from the lives of people you rely on, that rely on you. But part of living is knowing when to leave. It's knowing when your environment no longer suits the shell you're in. It's easy to tell when that chapter of your life begins. It starts with a slow depression easing its way in, and an unexplained restlessness. I know how much you fight it. The warning signs telling you it's time to go again. You are so afraid of being free, but your curiosity has its own needs. It was never a choice being free. It's always been a part of your destiny. I know you've felt that unexplainable presence easing your anxiety. And it's okay to breathe. It's okay to just be. To not know where you're going to be next spring. It's all a part of the plan. You need to have faith that those guiding you won't lead you astray. You are being protected, and I know you aren't religious, but when you feel like you've lost your way, fall to your knees, and pray. Look for the butterfly, and have faith that one small act of courageousness will set your life in motion. But you have to be willing to take action first. So flap your wings, and don't be afraid of the tornado that follows. You created your fear, and only you can survive in the wake of it.
I wrote this letter to myself. I'm preparing to travel again. In a little less than a month, I'll be on the road to Oregon. I don't have much of a plan this time, all I know is it's time to go.
**
Terry O'Leary Sep 2014
Sweet Butterfly, with wings now dry 'tis time to break away
and light upon the leaves of dawn while weeping willows sway,
not reminisce 'bout chrysalis discarded yesterday,
but treasure life, with colors rife in nature's cabaret.

Sweet Butterfly, you sometimes sigh "terrene so strange and new”,
but take a chance, with winged expanse of fairy-like bijou,
to taste delight in random flight, to drift beyond the blue
and then collect her naked nectar, sipped in morning dew.

Sweet Butterfly, you question why the breeze is seldom soft
when swirling you, your wings askew, while floating free aloft.
Some seem to find their peace of mind believing gods have coughed,
but others, downed, have often found more freedom when they've scoffed.

Sweet Butterfly, you needn't cry, the fields are full of clover,
and meadowlands bare braided strands that winds in waves flow over -
but if you fear that, more than here, another mead is mauver,
just flutter by, beneath the sky, unfettered flitting rover.

Sweet Butterfly, farewell, goodbye, you've left this world behind.
I oft gaze back along the track of flowers that you've mined
recalling days of light sashays and movements unconfined
that complement the firmament where beauty lies enshrined.
L B Sep 2017
Odd color
of trifling light
Flitting petal
blue-purple-gray
emerged from asphalt's
heated slumber
to lead some airy way--

The road forgot
Sometimes there is a moment that deserves forever....
I.
And my hair became too much

It overtook the walls
made its way into the office on the sixth floor
and then hung
like a dripping willow’s branches
over the desks

By the time they thought to find me
I’d already been wrapped up in a cocoon of brown hair  
indistinguishable from the walls
that was now
also covered in the thick strands of undulated hair

II.
everything and everyone became consumed.


III.
In hairy chrysalis, the scissors uselessly
hung on some poor frantic pair of hands
forced into pupa

IV.
It was on the third day that the streets surrounding the corporate buildings were once again
populated with people, that a young woman in heels swore she heard a
faint choral singing coming from the 5th or 6th floor of a dreary grey building.


V.
everything cocooned
everyone consumed
all in pupa

VI.
During metamorphosis, a caterpillar digests itself leaving only behind imaginal discs
that shape it’s adult body.  

everything becomes consumed.
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2018
Painting shades of blue
the tinted clouds
over the rainbow
jumped away.

Now it's a diving black swan
somewhere down the all
clear lapis lazuli blue sky.

Only one is left behind
wish I was with my butterfly!
jane taylor Jun 2016
this time is dark and dreary
why do i live it out?
i’m in the dirt and dusty road
what’s this life all about?

i look up and it seems like miles
‘till i could reach the sky
someone told me that i could go
but i know it’s a lie

but somethin’ says
fly high butterfly
come on, you won’t die
fly high butterfly
come on reach for the sky
fly high butterfly
come on butterfly fly

fly high butterfly

i feel that i can’t do it
i wanna stay the same
though this is hard and rough terrain
to me it’s home i say

then groundhog day it is again
please stop it i implore
the wounds need healin’ i am hurt
can’t take it anymore

but somethin’ says
fly high butterfly
come on, you won’t die
fly high butterfly
come on reach for the sky
fly high butterfly
come on butterfly fly

fly high butterfly

i crawl up to my empty shell
i curl up inside
i wait, i’m frightened, what to do?
i feel like i will die

i melt down into nothingness
i cannot take the pain
but something’s changin’ i wake up
to see life once again

cuz somethin’ said
fly high butterfly
come on, you won’t die
fly high butterfly
fly on up to the sky
fly high butterfly
come on butterfly fly

i flew and saw the light
i’m alive butterfly
now i know that this is the life
have the courage fly

fly high butterfly

©2016janetaylor
this is a song i wrote the music and lyrics to
https://youtu.be/idWIrkCVKPw
Ruby Payberg Nov 2018
I know a butterfly with broken wings
He’s made of smiles and light
Oh, he loves it when I sing
I’ve seen it make him cry

He said he found a way to fly
Even with that broken wing
I told him I’d never seen flight
Quite as beautiful as his
He claims that he can fly
But cannot move his wings
He only rides the breeze
I fear the wind will leave
“Butterfly-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-eye!”
“Oh my Butterfly-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-eye!”
“Butterfly-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-eye!”

­Where were you, when the woe was tossed, and I had to cry?

“Butterfly-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-eye!”
“Oh my Butterfly-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-eye!”
“Butterfly-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-eye!”

­Muddled in the crowds, and I was lost, wan-ting to die.
My head wasn’t clear but I saw you there; apple of my eye-I!

“Butterfly-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-eye!”
“Oh my Butterfly-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-eye!”
“Butterfly-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-eye!”

­We twin snakes, on a path above, and we circled ‘round,
Three nights and a day, and we fell in love, tearing up the town,
…but nothing can compare to the time we shared, and the fires-flare in our hearts -ensnared,

For your love I long, but you are dead and gone; My Butterfly!

“Butterfly-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-eye!”
“Oh my Butterfly-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-eye!”
“Butterfly-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-eye!”

­And that will never change, tears of my heart in chains,
No love will be the same, I hang my head in shame, hiding all the pain;

My Butterfly!

“Butterfly-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-eye!”
“Oh my Butterfly-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-eye!”
“Butterfly-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-eye!”*  ­  

“Butterfly-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-eye!”
“Oh my Butterfly-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-eye!”
“Butterfly-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-eye!”
Lyrical poetry in eight octave. In Southern Native American mythology the butterfly represents the human soul. It is a love ballad to the lost mythical lifestyle. The apple represents a gift. Gift of myth. Twin snakes are the northern and southern night time skies found in every ancient culture and mythology. The sky over the course of a year waves up and down in the motion of a serpent. Three nights and a day represents the Winter Solstice and Sun's hanging for three days and one night. 'Dead and gone' because mythology and mythical thinking has been replaced by science.
Anika Abith Jan 2018
Sometimes I do wonder,

Didn't the butterfly ever feel like
hiding in the cocoon again?
I found a butterfly with its wings broken, unable to fly....
Mr Quiet Jul 2018
I'm sorry,
I cannot ease your pain and cure your sorrow,
I cannot give you enough love for your bottomless heart,
Nor enough hope into your fragile life,
But that is not an excuse for you and I to give up,
I will still try,
Even if you still cry to sleep,
Late at night.

I will never fix what you hate in yourself for only you can do that,
But I will always be there if you want someone to listen.
I hear the echoes of your agonizing mind and I can feel the pain through your eyes,
I know the screeches of your soul and tears inside your lies,
I know and feel your emptiness every time you say, "I'm Fine."

And I hear you laugh,
I see you smile,
I hold those precious memories for I know those small periods of time is still valued,
Never forgotten,
Never denied,
For I remember those times and know for a fact that you'll still be alright.
Because I will never give up on you,
For you are just in a cocoon right now,
But I see within you,
A butterfly.
Hello! This is a poem that I made for my friend that is suffering from depression and I just want to let her know that I'm here for her, don't worry though, I'm still gonna try to comfort and help her no matter what so she'll be okay. Also this is the first poem I published in this website so feel free to criticize and leave a comment, thanks.
When You Used To Call Me Mine
Part 9/14
Annelyra Jan 2015
it is said
that the delicate flutter
of a butterfly's wing
vibrates the Earth
to its core
and transforms
everything

it is also said
that instead
the thoughtless footfalls
of every heavy human
are inevitable
inexorable cartography
splashed across
the landscape in
thin invisible lines
intertwining
and full of divine
meaning

imagine
the apathetic
apocalyptic
apoplectic
chaos
the uproar
the heartache
the blood spilled
the madness

imagine
the wings torn off butterflies
that don't shake the earth
and the stamping of feet
over unmarked land
if it turns out this is all
just an intricate
beautiful
accident.
Natasha Nov 2018
A butterfly broke its wings
from fleeing through the jungle of rage
then you came along
to gently kiss the cracks
rip a part of your skin
and sew the wings with it

Thank you,
for the butterfly has now witnessed
something more beautiful
than all the flowers it had ever laid on
i 'broke my wings' and it beautifully led me to witness an exquisitely beautiful form of love.
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2018
Nature is feminine by nature
off the man keeps a step away.
Touch it not but do not sway
eye on to this butterfly
que sera, sera on the way!
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
She is pyramidon spreads down the pyramid
Led by him up the pyramid that keeps climbing high.
Continues to straighten his straight line but her
curve off the top embraces full is an enduring spiral!

Off the apex of the pyramid the butterfly has slipped out
Still a circle still a cut whatsmore is concealed in the pi?
Future is in now, deathless in death only a pi away!
Shofi Ahmed Jul 2018
Dancing the billow in the sea
the cool one will show up
in no time with love.
Deep down from the deep
with the flute on the lips.

Listen to the flute!
The chorus clouds bang out
floating by the river blue,
they sing down the sky as they move.

The sun draws in
from the secret valley
ambling with the wonder light
as if it, the punter sun, in the sky
knew it, knows the flutist arty
rose from down the sea!

Every planet is a flying bee
twirling around the inner music
nothing ever stops in the solar disc.

The waning and waxing Moon
in silhouette and at half-light
swings over the sea full of life.

It all starts from the ground;
it was from our sea waterfront
Him the creative sweetheart in the midst
floated the leading light the bumblebee.
All the stars bubble in the galaxy
they know this ancient story!

Since then the brightest bulb
the sun in the solar ring  
leads the bunch’s mindful
butterfly dance on the way home.
Following the enduring haunting melody
of the pre-design command ‘qun’ be!
A poem from my upcoming book Qun: Love is Unconditional
Amber Robbins Mar 2014
Oh! How I wish I could soar the sky!

The wilderness beneath me,

With that screaming banshee.

If she wishes to foretell my death,

She should soon see,

That if I die,

I will soar on the delicate wings of a
butterfly!
Written January 11, 2012
The uniVerse Apr 2018
How fragile the butterfly
as it dances in the sky
trying to find its way home
to a place not carved of stone
soon all this will be dust
so it asks what's all the fuss?
what is all the fighting for?
silly soldiers and their wars
silly man and his laws
the only law is mother nature
for no man can escape her
she who birthed us all
she who waits when we fall
for how the mighty will crumble
as the fools they do stumble
upon the stolen hands of time
each of them suffering for their crimes
and yet the butterfly it worries not
for all that it is, is all that it's got
beauty set upon wings
it's beauty that truly sings.
https://www.instagram.com/p/Bk1RtKqFrqu/
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