Writing and Poetry

nothing but net

Am i a butterfly, am I a bee?
Drifting in the shadows of uninterested trees.
Am I crazy, as normal can be?
Am I the water who fears dark seas?
Thoughts do explode with unusual force
but never make a sound from their source
Why? Because they're not there anymore
Just as they appear they slip out the door
Winding their way through damp blades of grass
Searching for a new soul as one shuffles past
Sometimes settling inside an insect's hide
Where they'll live, as in me, just for the ride
I see little girls chasing after butterflies and bees
For wings to be pinned; or is that set free?

May 2008