A collection of writes:

Quatrain

I wish I was a butterfly

Walking in the park today
Among the bright red blooms
The colours so bright and gay
Emanating nature’s perfume    

Floating by, a butterfly
Fly and rested on the ground
I wish I had wings so fluttery
To fly around the world

For free it is to travel
To worlds magical and enchanted
No tears or sighs, never fearful
Loving, living life so pleasant.

Free Prose

Lamentations of self

I hear the music play again tonight. The melody and the lyrics like little pins and needles, they prick into my soul. Like tentacles they creep sinuously into my heart, breaks it and then minced it into little tiny mewls of pain. The words they reached into my depth and rip off any semblance of peace.
For with this song I remember you. Your eyes looking deep into mine, brown flecked with gold,  they sparkled.
You coming into my life was a boon, a balm to a hurt soul that had just recovered from the deceit and bed of lies from another. How I prayed for one who would hold out a hand and help me up from that crib of thorns, so painful to lie on but lie I did. For what choice did I have; nowhere to go, nowhere to run. Until at last, a night of sorrow pain and humiliation gave me no choice but to leave. That night when I left; I never looked back and for years I did not, until you. My love my life, but that was then wasn’t it; time when I was loved and needed by you. Wanted and lusted upon.
You were my knight on a long haul truck, we lived in our castle in the woods, playing King and Queen of love loving and salving past pain.
Until she came, your ex-sister in law…she sashayed into the room showing her beauty in her swan-like neck and the moves of a ballerina. In the living room of our house during the first time, your eyes never left her. For beauty she was, as beautiful as the morning sun…so bright so gold….so young. And I so brown, a child of the faraway sun, the sand my home the sea my life-canvas.
You were lost then. In a week of her arrival, she took my place in your arms. In a two weeks my bed, until one day I just walked out into the wilderness of life again. I could not force you to love me….I could not pick up the pieces of my broken heart. But I carry this song with me. Every time it plays, my heart’s stigmata bleed.

Haiku

A morning song

Mountain reflecting sun rays
The east in strength grows
The lyre sings