Amid the Lines

Amid the Lines

Everybody has felt that
Funny feeling inside your stomach
Like butterflies are flying higher and higher
Oblivious to the fact that the
Oxygen gets too thin to breathe

So they keep flying up;
Oh beauty in innocence fortell!
Those souls that place hope in lieu
Of disenchanted words from us damned realists.

So the butterflies fly into their sun
With giddy loops and droops scherzando,
Bearing those longing eyes that shun
The gaze of folks like me.

Alas, I bade thee worry not!
For whoever's god (or satan) hath
Given us the mind to hope
And hope against hope from somewhere within

Our weak, frail little frame
So twitterpated by its persistance that I
Think - why yes, I think that something
Or other about those butterflies hath
Gripped us right about our throat
(and is holding on rather tight)
In the hopes that we might experience
The fragrant beligerence of this exquisite
Example of emotional contagion.

Enough butterflies; How about flowers of
A pleasing, beatific hue who
Very much like to lay and tell
Passerby who stop to look about, well,
Anything their image can pass unto
Our eyes and ears, missing the flaw
That you must tread gingerly about the rose
For too quick a grasp will surely make you bleed.

You bleed for so long and you then go numb
You hide in the corner and wait another day

To open your eyes and condemn
Truth unto the words that I
Shared, devoured by the hungry sun
That consumed the butterflies and me.

The rose, though, still sits atop
The apex of this flight, thorns will
Remain sharp enough to cut you,
Bleed you, and send tears running from your eyes!

But your eyes? Surely we can say that
They looked about and saw
Things that perplex you and me
They looked about and then
After some time, decided to wait
A time not noted, perhaps indefinitely?

Waiting for that rose to bloom, a
Slight that probably won
The lusts of hearts before, and

It sets us realists aloof
To be honest.. to explain simply, I
Think we fear this heat from the sun;
We fear to dig and discover a
Feeling that I am sure you'll
Recognize, the fear that this feeling will
Not last a time judged indefinitely.

So bear your burden hitherto,
Concoct and drink your poison
So you ignore the verdicts of realists like me.