This Poem was Submitted By: Joe Gustin On Date: 2016-09-17 14:10:03 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Butterflies

I wish I could touch the tops of clouds with the tender tips of my wings Write songs worthy of birds and  other delicate things I wish I could paint sunsets befitting a poet's words To dream of other worlds  Where death is dead and love still swirls  My wishes are small as small as the starlight that reaches down to teach me just because I can't  hear it doesn't mean  that butterflies don't sing

Copyright © September 2016 Joe Gustin


This Poem was Critiqued By: Ashni Irey On Date: 2016-09-27 13:58:52
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
All the little things you wish have been momentarily fulfilled through the words in this poem. Every line is meaningful and so beautifully composed. The thought of a butterfly being able to sing is surreal.


This Poem was Critiqued By: Lora Silvey On Date: 2016-09-25 16:04:21
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Joe you offer us a delightful penning of the possibilities that are beyond the here and now. Your well chosen words couple with the gentle meter of your lines makes this a most enjoyable read. Thank you for sharing this with us. Lora
This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2016-09-24 09:48:04
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.00000
Joe, A very original premise (of the butterflies) that is a rare thing. To speak of the heart and mind, reacting to thier familiarity with what is observed and felt; when the feelings deigned inchoate to the observastions, rule the domain is the definition of the other side of the coin. We poets, and I do give poets the edge because I have seen those bathing in glory and lost in demise, who are unable to grasp the incliniations of the world and emotional freedom of pariculars- we poets must write from the soul that sees, and not necessarily from the positional response. Though Ashrin did just that this month, he; as other poets, will also find the glimmer in the externalities not controlled by the epicurean moods. Most of those aware of the world, during whatever inference it makes; cannot wonder if a butterfly sings. Then again, the butterflies song, mute or moot, is also contained in portrait. Well done.
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