As the clouds cry down and wet the soil,

in the dawn of here where I lay

amongst winged creatures

keeping shell within the sea of virtual,

with the bleak mumbles of people

existing in arguments, aggression and regiment

to which I find comfort,

knowing that the time in the day

will pass soon, that the evening sun is near

and the sky will go dark and heads will hit pillows,

it’s just another day in the world

to endure, a misfortune to many

if money did not sit so high in the pockets

of the world and if we were not forged,

into consumers, maybe happiness would be

or could be the answer to most of what we feel

the blossoming of seeds are coming

near now, the wet days of

dogs are beginning to come to an almost end,

it is like a caterpillar

eventually emerging into a butterfly

graceful, fluttering elegance

two weeks it will demise, verge upon the end

never actually being much more than a creature,

rot  the dirt and shielding the ground

two weeks or a year

that is mother-nature’s bestiality.

Maybe I am a butterfly

feeling like my days are numbered and the

depression of dying crumbles my mind

reflecting on becoming a walking piece of meat

like a cow, forced to reproduce and lactate

live somewhere I don’t want to be

the force that pushes us, formulating the path

in front of us, needs to show

show where I will die

whether it will be this way.