I Write Butterflies

I write bouquets of butterflies
A kaleidoscope of fluttering wings
They venture into the empty sky
Bravely explore the dicey world

At the mercy of haphazard winds
A single gust can upturn its fate
Either a blissful meadow home
Or a cruel desolate death

I feel nothing quite as bittersweet
Releasing each pair of palpitating wings
Hoping the world would see their beauty
Knowing most will die an ignoble death

Create beauty, though none may see it
Create hope, though none can be found

Gray Dawn

Awoke, in a gray and uncertain dawn
Awoke, with confused lazy eyes

Foresight blinded by a haze of doubt
Cannot see the future three feet out
Bumbling, fumbling like a mindless drunk
Cursing, stumbling in a graceless funk

Surrounded by a world of gray
A world of smoke envelops the day
A world of static, all noise
and no information

What direction is there to take?
Out of disorientation what should I make?

The Great Beyond

The stars live beyond any known horizon
So far in the distance as to be infinite
Appearing as pearls in the sky
Only showing apparitions of their true selves

Each a gargantuan ball of nuclear fire
Wreathed by rings of burnished rocks
Drifting through an icy void

Are we not a faint twinkling star
In some dark alien night?
A deserted landscape of craters
With a lonely living marble too faint to see

What living planets must thrive in the great beyond!
Worlds with lakes, land and waterfall
With forests and oceans
With animals watching through telescopes
Wondering if there are beings like them
Out in the great beyond

In this vast universe
The familiar is alien
The alien is familiar

Do Clocks Speak?

Do airplanes speak to birds
With the rumble of their engines?
Do clocks speak to one another
By the secret language of ticks?

If microwaves can talk
What would they say?
Will they want to be set free
and play in the light of day?

Do computers laugh at us
For all the mistakes we make?
What hilarity must they find in us
Hidden beneath the binary