A butterfly

On my walk in the evening twilight

I saw a golden butterfly
Flitting across lavender and marigold
Flowers arrayed in a line
In a garden that borrowed warmth
From the setting sun in the sky
Soon the butterfly gently landed 
On my palm in an elegant glide

I looked long at that delicate soul
Sorry for its fleeting life
Would it survive the brutes of nature?
Or a hand less kinder than mine?
Soon would it meet the inevitable scythe
Of that unforgiving reaper, Time
But the butterfly, happily away it flew
Unheeding the cares of my mind

As I brooded on these thoughts and more
In wafted a scented zephyr
Carrying the fragrance of garden flowers
And of my hopes and sweet desire
It whispered to me, "Whatever tomorrow's pain
Why does your heart now tire?
Fly with the butterfly, my dear child,
Soar in the sky, higher and higher"

My harshest critic

One wrong step have I barely taken
And she appears before me, frowning
She doesn't care that I'm already shaken
She stares me down, scowling

"The misstep was unintentional", I say
"Any other would have done the same"
But for context she doesn't much care
"I expect better, your excuse is lame"

She remembers all the mistakes I regret
Her needling words rip through the scabs
Of old wounds I'm trying to forget
A twisting spear through them she stabs

To others, she is a compassionate friend
She feels their pain deep in her soul
I wonder why the kindness doesn't extend
To me, whose battles she sees up close

I'll ask these questions, and then some more
When I see her in the mirror next

The abandoned boathouse

An abandoned boathouse stood on the edge
Of a placid lake, behind a hedge

No one visits it anymore

But not too far back there would be
Lovestruck couples who would come to see
The lake from this shore

They would come to see the colors of the sun
As it slowly sank below the horizon
Across the twinkling waves

They would ride their boats around the lake
Their lovers or their brides along they'd take
To chase the setting sun

Among those people was a beautiful girl
Whose smile would make the heartstrings twirl
Of one handsome boy

Every day they'd meet and talk
Of the dreams they'd chase, the paths they'd walk
As they grow old together

Of the house they'd build, for their many cute kids
Over pillars of trust, with their love as bricks
What a happy home it'd be!

From this house, their dreams they'd chase
And come back by dusk to its warm fireplace
Into each others arms

They'd talk these things as they rode in the boat
Or walked hand in hand along the shore
Lost in the other's eyes

At the end of the day, they'd part with a kiss
And sing a love song on how much they'd miss
Each other that night

All this I recount from many moons ago
They don't visit the boathouse anymore
I wonder what they've become

But if you've ever had a husband or a wife
Or if you've been an astute student of life
You can easily surmise

That they would no longer be singing
Love songs, but instead be bickering
Over life's mundane things

That they would no longer dream, but only rue
Their dreams of youth that never came true
And the unfairness of life

They'd perhaps be living in a sad little house
With its walls plastered with many a grouse
And no love lost in the bricks

And around its fireplace they'd never huddle
They'd have no time for kisses or a cuddle
Or for any of those silly things

And the house of their dreams would be lying alone
In dreams that they never visit anymore
Abandoned, like the boathouse

What is art?

Words of a poem, in my mind they land
Gently like the waves on the warm beach sand
Words that, in moments of sorrow or cheer
I wish someone had whispered in my ear
Words that slake the thirst of my mind
Those are the words that I love to write

So the next time some music holds you in thrall
Or you lose yourself in a painting on the wall
Remember that a much greater joy this brings
To the mind of the artist that birthed these things

What is the art of an artist if nothing more
Than leftovers from the feast laid out for her soul?