The writings of Oddpoet

I sit in my gar­den why I don’t know
For it is steeped in blan­kets of new fallen snow.
Naked trees clothed in sheets of ice
The land­scape is beauty filled with sun­light and white.

Win­ter doth grips my heart so
The tears and the sad­ness from my soul flow.
But the beauty and promise.
That soon… my sweet but­ter­fly will show…

I am not given to speak­ing words that are sweet
I am blacker than mad­ness from the demons I meet.
The bat­tles that rage alone that I fight,
There is no moon in the dark­ness of my night.
It is beauty and love that I do indeed seek…
Where is my but­ter­fly? So humble…so meek.

Win­ter unclenches its furi­ous grip
It is sweet spring from whose cup I now sip
Fer­vently I wish from the seeds that I sow,
Soon…yes soon my sweet but­ter­fly will show.

I patiently wait alone in my chair
My gar­den has grown at which now I do stare
The flow­ers they bloom, through love and my care
But where is my but­ter­fly? so pretty so fair.

Her gos­samer wings alight on my plants,
My heart races to a beat that enchants.
I am stricken by mad­ness, with a heart that so yearns
My beau­ti­ful But­ter­fly indeed has returned.

You can not touch beauty; it is but a wisp of smoke
Clutch as you may tis but a dream you invoke
It can only be seen and loved from afar
Alas…..if I could… share the words that we spoke.

I watch in sweet bliss as she does her dance
Hop­ping from flower, from flower to plant
I smile and nod as her beauty unfolds
Ahhh the story of love that she told.

The trees cry leaves which tum­ble to the ground
With a wist­ful, wish­ful, whis­per­ing sound.
Autumn has come it can­not be denied
The green of the grass cries as it dies

The sea­sons impose their will upon all.

My eyes which do tear
And a heart that does yearn
That my sweet, sweet, but­ter­fly will some­day return.