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Butterflies
To that which is deeper and is not concise
Within the confine limits of our minds
A church of thoughts, a perfect plan
The lifetime pursuit of finding who you are
Shades of grey, shooting the heroin of clueless
Words are to be played in a rustic harmony
The world is not something to be seen through a window
A labyrinth in which there’s no exact destination
Butterflies on the ceiling prophesying the end
A school of birds transcending to the unknown
We are in an eternal journey deciphering human’s nature
nice,
thanks SS
Don't let any one shake your dream stars from your eyes, lest your soul Come away with them! -SS
"Well, it's love, but not as we know it."
Beware The Light Fixtures
I love those ceiling prophesying butterflies! - Excellent use of the title, by the way. Not at the very end as the last word as if that is the place where the greatest dramatic affect lives. It lives in the ceiling...thanks ~ ~ ~ ~ A