Yellow Butterflies


What about the heart of this man,
During tedious days, works his land.

A young woman with hands parched and cracked;

Using them daily, in patient perseverance,

Searching for those things that bring lasting joy and happiness,

And a dream of more stability.

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I sit reflecting on peoples' joy, happiness, fears, sorrow;

That binds humanity, in commonality, through worlds and time.

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And that through the adversity of its development, and eventual grand potential;

Demanding growth of deep, profound sentiments of the human soul.

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Sitting amidst a strange century; and an odd era,

With hallowed heart, for those who came before.

A Reunion of universal realities,

The pouring out of easements

  -----pointing out common directions of what truly frees the soul, heals it.

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Are we all really so very different?

With their eyes staring down at me,

And my own piercing back.

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