Post by AquarianM on Jul 24, 2010 4:08:01 GMT -5
Butterflight...
I woke to the sound of butterfly wings creeping across my dreams,
Late in the night when the breeze carried all the way from the cool blue sea,
The Moon was big bright amber over the blackness of Lake Michigan in the East,
And the lone star you can see over the city glow of Chicago was humming an ultraviolet note.
I can only speculate on why I compulsively wear a blue shirt,
Blue Jeans,
Blue Watch,
On blue Monday,
But it's not because I'm happy at the park chasing butterflies and dodging sunbeams.
Somewhere there's a Monarch floating on a sunrise breeze in his camo's,
Invisible and drowning in a stench of Corexit and tar ball fumes,
Wings shuddering in a paroxysm of convulsive exit,
Over the strangely orange-grey waters of the Gulf of Mexico.
Maybe his living cousins will make it all the way to the Nazca Lines of Peru,
Diving into a cave at 23:59 local time on December 20th of 2012,
Just as the wash of orange flames from runaway global warming strikes Venus at midnight.
I wonder if I'll have to put on an orange butterfly suit,
In order to hitch a ride from the Galatic Federation of Orion,
The only way left to fly free of the bones of this beautiful blue marble we're ignorantly trying to kill,
And I know I don't want to help commit matricide,
But I'm not sure Pacha Mama Gaia can hear the butterfly whispers that leave my begging lips.
When the Pleadeans speak at the Intergalactic Court,
What will come out of the chrysalis?
"Listen to your Mother?"
AquarianM
By Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/24/2010
I woke to the sound of butterfly wings creeping across my dreams,
Late in the night when the breeze carried all the way from the cool blue sea,
The Moon was big bright amber over the blackness of Lake Michigan in the East,
And the lone star you can see over the city glow of Chicago was humming an ultraviolet note.
I can only speculate on why I compulsively wear a blue shirt,
Blue Jeans,
Blue Watch,
On blue Monday,
But it's not because I'm happy at the park chasing butterflies and dodging sunbeams.
Somewhere there's a Monarch floating on a sunrise breeze in his camo's,
Invisible and drowning in a stench of Corexit and tar ball fumes,
Wings shuddering in a paroxysm of convulsive exit,
Over the strangely orange-grey waters of the Gulf of Mexico.
Maybe his living cousins will make it all the way to the Nazca Lines of Peru,
Diving into a cave at 23:59 local time on December 20th of 2012,
Just as the wash of orange flames from runaway global warming strikes Venus at midnight.
I wonder if I'll have to put on an orange butterfly suit,
In order to hitch a ride from the Galatic Federation of Orion,
The only way left to fly free of the bones of this beautiful blue marble we're ignorantly trying to kill,
And I know I don't want to help commit matricide,
But I'm not sure Pacha Mama Gaia can hear the butterfly whispers that leave my begging lips.
When the Pleadeans speak at the Intergalactic Court,
What will come out of the chrysalis?
"Listen to your Mother?"
AquarianM
By Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/24/2010
