The wind whistles in the darkness that is called the human scene. Repressive waves upon the grass collect the people to its embraces. The soiled, home rule approach. And butterflies are free too fly, but not I, no, not I.
Conform to established laws. "Repent ye of all thy sins". Increase your paranoid eyes, and Sunday, cry in a church. A thousand million children die for the sake of civilized man. Butterfies fly high and free, but not me, no, never me.
Your friends out-live you by their conforming faces. They are afraid to shine on. Respecting only businessmen. The whistling winds converge in patterns of suppression. Butterflies fly unhindered, not so man, never mankind.
The snow covers hatred. Cold and lonely we all are. Intent on our solitudes which we claim is human pride. The winds of change fail to collect anyone. Butterflies fly high and free, and tomorrow, millions die.
I have seen no butterflies this year in the Detroit area. The pollution is causing great stress on the life of nature. I like the desire and the logic of this poem. Using natures gifts allow anyone to understand life and the flow of the world. Thank you for a outstanding poem.
Coyote
I love how you italicized the entire thing. It made it feel more mysterious. I like the idea (well, okay I don't like the idea idea, but I like how you used it) that butterflies might be short-lived, but they are free, unlike us. Your diction was lovely and the refrain "but not I, no, not I" even though it changed every time, was powerful.
It's a really beautiful poem and the message it sends is just as lovely.
Amazing write. There is a sense of reclusive sorrow in this piece. I felt the desolation in your words. Thought provoking and worth the read...(a layered theme) I read this three times. Did I say Amazing?.. It was!
On the splendid streets of Toronto walks a man. He observes, he writes, he lives; a never-ending chronicle of his mind flooding from his hands onto paper. more..