When you walk outside into the open air
When you look around at all the beauty everywhere
Think of butterflies fluttering all around
Filling the atmosphere from the sky to the ground
When you feel the wind across your face
Remember my love is all over the place
When you see one lone butterfly fluttering by with such beauty and grace
Think of me and the last time you saw a smile on my face
Remember the joy we shared in our lifetime together
The bond we shared was the most precious treasure
You are blessed with memories of our years on earth
Just as God blessed me on the day of your birth
I have moved on to a glorious place
But daily I am still blessed with your loving face
When you see a butterfly, think of me
That is my spirit flying high and free
I watch over you my dear loved ones, each day and night
I am so proud of your choices to live your life right
My love for all of you will continue to flow
I miss throwing my arms around you more than you know
I am flying with Angels in the Heaven’s above
We watch over you always and send down our love
Look for the butterflies with colors so bright
For they host the spirits of loved ones now out of sight
You must keep your chin up and take care of yourself
But remember God sends His Angels to sometimes help
When you least expect it, at a time of great need
That’s when an Angel appears to do a good deed
Keep your eyes open and be prepared
Great blessings will be upon you when you’re least aware
Watch for the butterflies as they flutter around
They will soon appear in your life when they are less likely to be found
My heart is with you as I watch from afar
Angels walk with you wherever you are
Trust in my word and know that many blessings are upon you
For God has sent Angels who will help you through
Hold memories close and cherish those in your life with love
Trust in my word and in the Lord above
Copyright © 2003 Shari E Davis
Copyright © Shari Davis | Year Posted 2007
so much talk
poetry’s dead, poetry’s dying
I live with the dead
know the dying
so I lay a braided scarlet welcome mat
at the door and welcome
all for this marvelous seance
step right up
the plasticine academic gold butterfly
returns to the vile chopped red neon street
tranvestites ask directions and wink
as the mint girls turn their heads shake their ass
knowing full well porn has emptied their
carrot dangling coffers
the man with the gold lamé suit
terminal navy ink fingers
throwing darts at the half-grinning moon
Copyright © michael amitin | Year Posted 2014
Like a bat sleeping
the cocoon gently hangs
upon the massive red oak’s arm.
And ever so lightly—
it does shake…
dance along the little egg sack.
A wing of silent, starry blue protrudes
And now a leg-
And several more!
Beautifully blue the butterfly glistens.
Her wings flutter freely
Singing a note of life newly grown
And yet a tinge of melancholy
it seems she does echoe
of a life long ago.
To the skies she soars
In search of something more
A butterfly is born…
Copyright © Lauren Reindel | Year Posted 2011
My friend ,
You have accused me
Of stealing the color from a butterfly
Of your town.
I tore out of some garden, you say,
A sapling of gulmohar
And planted it
In a desolate and barren cemetery.
Just as the coral tree
Has bitter roots,
So, in my heart,
I am degenerate, immoral,
You have judged me to be vile!
I am well aquainted with pain and have deliberately
Made it my power.
I am a bird of prey and do not care
For the friendship of little birds.
My colors are false,
I am a dishonest dyer!
The inky serpent of fame
Lies around my neck
And strikes, with my songs,
My pain, like Ashwathaama’s
You remind me that my body-room
Will disintegrate soon enough.
In exchange for fragrant songs
I trade in wombs.
I am, you write
A very adolescent trader.
You say that a shadow
Is a child of light.
It is not the duty of a shadow
The duty of a shadow is
Devotion to light.
In light, to always be ahead,
And to extinguish itself in light.
Even a bird can fly away
If is miserable in its cage.
But each day
I catch and discard new birds.
The reason I do this, you say, is that I covet just one thing,
The sorrow in my soul.
Because every song I sing,
Is a song of sorrow.
You also write
About one butterfly.
The butterfly who spent a short time
In my garden,
The butterfly with a weakness for,
The butterflywho desired,
Her face was sweet,
Like the moon in a desert.
Were very dear to her.
You considered me
A son of Saraswati,
Today your opinion about me
At the end you have written
That I ought to be ashamed of myself!
That I should drown myself
In a tub of acid!
I should take my sick self -
Along with my songs -
And leave the environs
Of your town today!
Society has no need
Of my worthless sorrows!
I should be fighting for
The rights of workers!
I ought to disperse the color
Of my beloved
To the grain in the fields.
I ought to take the sorrow of the world,
And set it, like a jewel, in a ring of songs!
Copyright © Prabhjeet Singh | Year Posted 2016
Wanted: Seer of Ice,
Free from Time's liquor,
and worth all of this pain,
I thought I'd tell you:
Going home today.
Stepped in a puddle of unreal blue,
it ate up my leg
like a factual disease
we're never taught to pronounce.
It made a home of my leg
and froze me there.
Getting ice cream from the truck
doesn't taste like fun anymore.
Having a bounty that is stuck
doesn't compose musically, nor
when I love mixing my aching joints
and fear-furthering stereo
into my Nintendo beanie
with a hole in it from '05,
when we were a family that didn't succumb
to the true tune of the world; imbibe,
and when, in the middle of this winter past,
my 11th chance passed away, an icicle butterfly
glittering serenely and nostalgically,
its death pure beauty; each new melt better than the last
like darkness lurching beyond noon's laughter,
when I held her,
I did not actually hold eternity,
I held the world of snow
that now has sic'd a bliz on our happy mem'ries to gather,
you replaced so well
the spirit of the death knell
that blackest June did sell.
Two clocks are frozen, their second hands
back and forth
in the same spot,
I picked you up, then,
Seer of Ice.
I wanted to talk to you,
but I can only hear you in my head,
and cry out in vain to an image
that tells me my own answers.
In the ol' photograph scene, I, an infant,
stare up at you, and you quell my tears.
You were a Seer,
so you knew of our future--our now--
and froze yourself in Time.
I never knew you truly,
or why you divorced,
or what you knew of true love.
You never knew that I'd grow up
to become a Seer of Darkness.
I take the clocks down off the wall
and re-energize them
with the batteries of lonely, twilit factories,
and the lingering magic
from the power you still have
from within your grave, fading,
only leads me to name a price:
Wanted: Seer of Ice
Copyright © Richard H. Dunsany | Year Posted 2017