the meanwhile butterfly

he saw discomfort written on his hands
and felt his will be thwarted by the world;
the patterns, all chaotic, of perchance
that settled dark in clouds and murky swirled

he turned inside to search out where the light
had gone, and why the bioverse gives pain;
he wanted sun, the shoulder-sun of june,
but felt it weakly through a window pane

he missed the meanwhile butterfly go by
the she without that turns the we to i

escaped from prism, eager to go forth;
the lesson of the worm, turned
metamorph


© Nylakatara2013 | Dreamstime.com – Butterfly iris

On Different Ground

It’s still out there to be found.

The world is different than it was.

There’s no need to complain:

For things are always changing, and

The old becomes arcane

 

The library, for instance, was

A magic place to go:

But it’s a place that some kids now

Will never get to know

 

There’s knowledge and connection — it’s

Still out there to be found —

But many younger people will

Find that

On different

Ground

The Things We Say

But yet, we falter —

The things we say
(Or think we say)
They morph and alter
Everyday –

So we recall,
Recall it all —
But yet, we falter,
Frail and small –

To speak the mind
We left behind,
Belief we beggar,
Naught we find —

The things we said
(Or thought we said)
They maunder:
Icy,
Cold,
And dead