Narrative on love; reverse acrostic |
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. |