Philosophers you make of ev’ryone
in fluttered aviations over scores
of connotations. Like a setting sun,
a soul attached to you implores
a single morning at a time. A flock
of you in unison congests a chance
of visitations on a friendly clock
and talks reunions into games of trance.
The essence of a synchronicity
between a soul and body hides behind
a bamboo screen. From there felicity
injects a flight of angel wings into the mind.
Will you beknight my footing with the sky,
and tuck me in a rainbow, butterfly?
(Probably the worst sonnet I’ve ever written, but the first one I’ve posted here simply because it’s my most recent. It was inspired by the role of butterflies in Japanese culture, where they are closely linked to souls, either those that are alive and well in association with a living body, or with one who’s passed on. They are also the subject of superstitions, dependent on the number that travel together. It’s said that if one visit’s one’s home and hides behind a bamboo screen, it is the soul of a lost love or relative making a visit. If a large group visits, it’s believed to be a bad omen. This was written for a friend who suffers from a disorder that also carries the butterfly as its symbol, and was put together fairly quickly, hence my jaded feelings towards it. I will likely attempt to improve upon it at some point.)
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