Dust

an inquiry to what i was
deemed unnecessary to reply

after all, is it a question of my history-
present being? My origin, may be?

but any ever see my voice
know not a vowel need be audible

i speak when disturbed
as sunlight stirs within my wings

butterflies fall silent
to beauty, smooth as lullaby

of mine.

Reviews

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:: wow... this is so beautiful... i have always wondered about precisely what it is that makes us versify... and here... right here... is another layer of that mystery... very magically articulated, monsieur steeven...