i dreamt i saw you walking
up a hillside in the snow
casting shadows on the winter sky
as you stood there counting crows
one for sorrow, two for joy,
three for girls, and four for boys,
five for silver, six for gold, and
seven for a secret never to be told

there's a bird that nests inside you
sleeping underneath your skin
when you open up your wings to speak
i wish you'd let me in

from "a murder of one" ~ counting crows
Butterfly II

Ok, i have to put this out here. read if you want. respond if you like. but please be patient with me in my need to expell some demons that have been taunting me:

Part I / / Part II / / Part III / / Part IV / / Part V

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Pin the Butterfly ~ II

She watches the thoughts play past your eyes,
Clouds flitting in time-lapse on a windy day,
And you finally speak, the words coming slowly,
Unaccustomed to the truth that weighs heavily on them.
Your mind is jammed and you cannot form a thought of your own,
Nor are you aware of what you are saying to her as she replies.
You ache to make her smile, the knife digging deeper into your neck,
Begging for your release from this waiting.
She is your salvation.
The pure laugh finds it's way to your mind and
Washes over you, so cool and soothing.
You can't help but drink from the pool of her
And it burns inside you.
Instantly, you stop breathing and know you must leave
Distance yourself from her before she kills you with this . . .
Understanding?
Acceptance?
Love?
What is it about her?
How can you own it?
How can you own HER?
Your mind turns back in revulsion to what she is saying and her
Mirror opposite to you is addictive.
Her stark black and white to the blinding colors you hide behind.
Your soul is shaking from the strain of being so close to all these people
When you really want the privacy to fall upon her words and devour them.
Somehow you have been led away from the crush of bodies and
You are standing under the fairy lights on the porch staring at her as she sips
The champagne and your are transfixed on the touch of her lips to the glass . . .
The subtle flex of her throat and you itch to feel that
Simple movement under your fingertips.
Your panic is rising as you know she has noticed your staring at her.
"You are so . . . mint magnolia."
Where the words come from, you'll never know
But she pauses, confused.
Uncertain
Caught.

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YES, this is an original work so here it is, the thingy:

Back to the beginning . . .

Any and all poetry found on this page is original and the exclusive property of misijane hibner copywrite 2000.

Please do not reprint without permission.


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confessed on 2000-11-22