Smoking Butterflies Poem by Rickardo BecklesBurrowes

Talk of chance, cradling virtue
Along the journey,
As past is the coal for the future fires
As we question the enchanted.
A natural terrain built on promise,
Our faith nurtured, is painted like a Monet.
For rough magic bargains with our value,
Bliss is divorced from a given price.
We mimic slavery in some choices,
Are disappointed, never satisfied
Dispelling truth for drama
Creating a chrysalis of crisis.
We aim for walking-talking perfection
Married to the rotting shell around us.
Bearing problems for eventual flight,
As false prophets battle conviction.
The shadows you sense are fading now
Quiet lights form a lullaby to soothe.
Problems become challenges, which remain,
Testing what you are becoming.
First, sense of smell returns
Is it eloquence you taste in new choices?
Renewed desire builds foundations stronger,
As you transcend what you see.
Pain opens natures secret wonder,
Self connections, resurrections draw you deeper.
As new confidence, lifts your wings.
Old roads will burn the shells to wings.
With sweet fire in our hearts,
We drink nectar on undiscovered flight paths
Smoking the butterflies inside,
To ready collective wings to fly!