Poetry

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A butterfly came to me,
Still raking the land
with my body as Ed
pulled me by hand.

Her wings were painted
Like an autumn leaf,
With orange and red;
A sight of relief

She caught on her wing
The tear from my eye
The tear for lost love,
Which I always cry.

She'll bring it to Him.
And He'll hear
What I must say,
Although I'm not near.

"Look over there
Do you see that man?
He is the one
Who helps me understand

What I can of your love,
Even as I doubt.
I see how he lives,
I hear him speak.

And I think I can hold
On in the wake.
He loves you, I know.
He loves you true.

He loves you like I
Have always loved you
But he goes to the forum
He is unafraid.

He is not perfect,
Yet he speaks your name.
He has great grace.
I wish for the same.

But there is more..
Here I am again,
In this fragile situation,
I do still remain.

My heart cries out to say,
What I wish to be known
All of those years
I kept silent for too long.

All the women tell me
That he is not like the rest
He keeps a safe distance
So as not to test...

His own intentions,
Maybe his achilles heel?
He must keep it protected
Lest it be revealed.

If it is revealed,
What will I do?
Will I take advantage
and play him a fool?

Before any of that,
Before I can leave,
I must speak the truth,
So then I can greive.

All the women of the town
They tell me I'm wrong,
"It's best left unsung",
They say of that song.

But what of it now?
Building in my lungs,
Its already begun.
In midair, it is hung

I hear what they say,
But I disagree.
For if all is spoken,
Then all can be greived.

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