a butterfly called love

Love, the eternal gem. . .
whispering amidst the roar of life.

Tiptoeing unbidden,
into the beehive of the mind.

Knocking as a stranger,
upon the door of self.

Unraveling the ball of yarn,
we call life.

Sweet caress of substance sublime,
wild beast that keeps no time.

In pursuit of love like a butterfly
with our net.

Stirred-up air is often all we get.

 

by Rev. Simeon Nartoomid
September 12, 2002