- Non-Erotic Poetry
- A Butterfly Dies
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Author's Note: In memory of my friends Chelle and Heidi, one taken untimely from this world, the other who chose to leave us too soon.
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a light is gone
from the world
a star descends
into oblivion
a butterfly dies
in its cocoon
a rose wilts
before it buds
a candle is out
before it glowed
a swimming dolphin
sinks in the sea
a fairy dissipates
before it flies
the acorn drops
its color green
a song of life
fades away
the rainbow is fog
the wind blows backwards
the sun is black
the ocean freezes
the stars are novas
the moon wanes
and a butterfly dies
before it emerges.
- COMMENTS
Anonymousabout 7 years agoSometimes people say "they left us too soon" when talking about suicide. Did that not occur to you?
gypsiecowboyalmost 10 years agobutterfly songs, For You
our butterflies cover the entire continent in their wanderings, their wings whistle silently as they reach towards the Jaguar Clouded Skies... they circle the Medicine Wheel in all 6 directions to help us learn to use the world as a map to our inner selves.
butterflies can be insistent, keep jumping at us, fluttering at us, landing on our teacups or fingtips, on a nose or a forehead. they are trying to get our attention to show us the direction in which we must fly to get to our next adventure, our coming lessons. butterflies cling to the one whom they are addressing, folding and unfolding their wings, pulling at us with their tiny legs until we realize (or don't) what we must do in the moment.
there is indeed a Spirit House of Butterflies, with a hostess, Butterfly Woman who conducts the orchestra of Butterfly Songs, tunes that shimmer tiny sheets of velvety ecstatic dreams that pull at the soul of those who are most sensitive, dancing from tawana the white flower to redtipped leaves that wave in breezes. butterflies can rub their legs together to create flame walls but only for those who are sensitive enough to feel the heat on the level of tiny, intrinsic truth. they create cocoons to hide from us while they choose the colors of their being, the patterns of their wings. they live in nests near the magical springs, the wet powerplaces, the springs and waterfalls of our lives.
when they come to us they bring messages of peace and show us the directions in which we must travel to reach the Peace. they stutter their leaves up and back, open and shuttered, My butterfly kisses a lullabye to help Me sleep then enters My dreams where her eyes focus Mine, her antennae flicker and flip little greetings, "hello. so pleased to meet you. won't you come dance with me? can you hear my breaths flicker the flower petals as I hover, feeding, sleeping, can you follow me as I travel, translating from one world to another, visiting the Earth Mother, studying with Father Sky, to the trusting innocence of the south, the cold intelligence and strong winds of the north, the sacred dreams of birth and rebirth to the west and the Light that illuminates Truth and Love, emanating from the east?"
some think that butterflies are grown up caterpillars but I know the caterpillar as the sleeping Beauty, waiting for a reason to shine forth with colorful patterned wings, waiting for the child who will gaze in wonder, for the soul capable of reading the dreamthoughts, of hearing the silent music, ready to follow the Path of Life to find Destiny.
if you think to photograph the butterfly in messenger mode you will find it impossible to do so. if you think to record the sounds made by her breaths, her wings, you will find it impossible to do so. scientists and artists can capture butterfly images for their own purposes. students with nets can capture butterflies to try to save their beauty for an eternity or two. but it is only the few who can hear the messages.
these are the reasons that butterflies exist. they cannot capture the images but they can - and must - follow the heartsongs of the butterflies.
it is the only chance this world has to survive!
copyright GypsieCowboy 2011
