The Butterfly Cycle, by Malak Alrashed

The Butterfly Cycle

Milk and Honey Collection

A larva growing rapidly,

A butterfly to become

Flying free, propelling air.

Those fair, innocent wings that I shall soon wear

When I am to be wed to the moonlight, the honey

And the nectar of the flowers.

A dream so fragile, I must not err.

I hid it.

I hid it all.

My growth is hampered by fear

Unleashing those wings would disturb my man,

Here he rests; obsessing over video games

And humans' lifespans.

I must always shrink for him to tolerate

My wisp of hair—and the mediocre life

Inside the cracked pictures’ frames.

Love is a season in between,

It will eat you up, even if you didn't

Allow its rainy gales to be seen.

Honey, haven't you yet learned that only the rain

Will render the plants with intense green?

I have suffered the cruelty of his changing moods

Flat and hidden,

I cannot move without dislodging the weight of a decade

Of a love-forbidden,

Of a man who lived and died

In me—lonely, unreal and forgiven.

I falter,

A lonely butterfly facing gusts.

It hurts to become,

But when the air pushes under those wings,

May there be nothing left but a handful of dust.

Now I could only fancy the thought of him:

Running through the roads,

Escaping the weights of reality, foolishly happy, not

Including me.

Vic Evora

Happiness is a butterfly, which when pursued is just beyond your grasp; but which, if you sit down quietly, will alight upon you Love your poem...

oh ..my ...GOSH...i love your style.i never cease to be moved..this rapid rhyming and idk..the ideas behind this poem..moved me...to tears almost...geez...so good...your good...really..impressive..probably my favorite on this site...or at least tied with 2 others..

C.R.Stanger

flawless rhyme and verse..again..

Robert L. Martin

I love the sadness and beauty of the poem. Very descriptive, real, of the life your saddled with. Very lonely, but I can see the fire in your soul and the need to spread it out in prose. A beautiful poem.

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The Birth of Venus, by Sandro Botticelli

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Of a land between two rivers, sing… I—The divine coronated of the eig… Etched by the men from Mars, I—a star Venus Alone I stood ahead of Cetus.

Via Dolorosa

Angels or demons? Demons— must it be Had a place in my head They build it; Stone by stone

A Faithful Worshipper

Among the men in white I walked Seven and hundreds of times I wal… First, I crawled; Then, I marched And at last, I dead-walked;

The Heroic Life of a Pseudo Hippie

He wakes up in a fleeting bed, In a far away motel Preaching strangers on the art of… It’s all about a loaf of bread, And health and physical well-being…