Thursday, September 11, 2014

Butterflies and Owls

picture credit:

She slides her hand into the back pocket of her blue jeans,
feels something, pulls out a green wrapper from a piece of gum,
she frowns, recalling the hand that had placed it there,
deep in thought she slowly walks on…
In the warm breeze at dusk, she stretches out on the lawn,
staring up at a sky of colours that swirl and merge in hypnotic patterns,
when a pair of butterflies hover over her for the briefest of moments,
before drifting into the blackening sky, leaving whispers in the wind.
But it’s the hooting of the owl who shares his presence with her soul,
who dives in with a silent rush of air, when her whispers revealed a powerful draw
towards a hollow void of destruction she was unable and unwilling to stop,
and he swoops her from the edge of her private hell, while her future plays in his eyes.


  1. Methinks it is GOOD to get "swooped from the edge"...

    Shadow much more of this intentionally evocative writing...and you may start believing it. You KNOW that, right? (Interesting, and well done!)

  2. The first part is my favorite. I often find memories in my coat pockets.

  3. I was so entranced by her beautiful "dream" that I was deeply surprised by the ending... I'm glad she was rescued though.

  4. No hell should be private, after all most hells are played out in public.

  5. This one should definitely be included in your book. Love it!

  6. last few words "while her future plays in his eyes" just paints such a startling picture in my mind.