your gentle grace
thawed my heart.
what greater image of hope
of rebellion
than in the ruins of a war torn world:
a single butterfly,
dancing, floating,
angelic amidst the ash.
Tag: poet
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a butterfly joined me on my walk
floating with grace
her painted canvas wings
a fluttering heartbeat.
they made me pause.
what are you doing, butterfly?
i saw its past, i saw its future,
breaching its cocoon,
then faltering, returning
to the earth’s womb.
i wondered:
what are you doing, butterfly?
why?
you emerge,
you return,
simply to grace our path?
why?
nature, so peculiar,
this thing you do.
the whole of life,
it seems to have no other reason
than to be briefly beautiful
-
Darling,
let us indulge indulgence,
that Epicurean cure.
Let touch be our salve,
my lips be your balm,
and let us yield
to what we feel —
what, my dear,
could be more real?
Let go of thought —
be free, my darling,
think not.
Break that dam,
embrace the rains —
surrender, my love,
surrender, and let your heart
take the reins.