Essence Poem by Sophia White

Fluttering like a thousand paper butterflies
On a wind that smells of far-off shores
And hear the repeating melody
Of a bird whose name we have heard
But slips past the tongue and hides
Somewhere in the unconscious.
A faint taste of citrus, or is it salt?
No matter; the taste is tangily pleasant.
Exotic, desirable, but too much
Will deaden all the senses.
These are words. This is their essence.
Whispering by on the tongues
Of maiden zephyrs and bees
Evanescent and when you reach
To grab one, it darts away
But all the same, you want it that way.
Somehow, if you caught it,
You would wish you had not.
And still, wish softly that you had.
You do not linger on it, though,
For their dance is all too enchanting.
These are words. This is their essence.
Something like the laughter of children
Bound up by cords of sunlight
Sometimes carrying the sweet tears
That the clouds cry when they’re sad
A tune from a song you once knew
But have forgotten just enough
To not know the words –
Just know that lilting note,
Repeating, vibrant note
And you know the words are there in the air.
These are words. This is their essence.
In a curious dance around a garden
That grows flowers of radiance
You see no shadow fall across the path.
You see ahead the sunlight, dappling grass.
Your feet are bare, your hair is in the wind.
Something soft has melted in the air.
You know you know that something’s there
But you cannot place your finger on it.
And that is just how you would have it.
Yours, but not quite yours, and all the while,
You know that it belongs to all the world
And still, somehow, it is only yours.
These are words. This is their essence.