Stop On The Sunshine


Out in a space of invisible hope,
Rough hands plot no demise.
Bright on the marrow, eyes spot
A gathering of 1,995 Butterflies
On cue, bunches of wings flutter and flap about
Reign on, reign on, Sunshine Beauties,
All ‘tis the space of breezes, Bless the Light.
While pride is strapped to the waist-side
In the young ages, ‘tis the season
Of soul-driven passion
In a young man’s game,
The entire population plays.
Meanwhile, the Butterflies say, that was then,
And count to three, so this is now
Feel the wind, praise God for how fresh,
All the way back to lush green hills of Grace,
Eyes can lovingly admire, despite Time’s relentlessness
To end, to reach an unfathomable finish line, before
The 1,995 Butterflies can flap and flutter about,
Again and again, rolling on, rolling on, continuously
There. Even if eyes are drifting,
Heavy eyelids will lose sight yet not,
Keep looking
As dreary eyes may wonder
Upon the best place,
Which is now.

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