A Winged Butterfly: (Award Winner lmfao)

                                                                       

                                                                        This Is Nice.

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Oft in the greyish heap, monotonous seam
of life
When the musks don't bloom & the muskets don't thrive,
No scotch, no butter, stingy moths everywhere compiled,

In that gloomy subtly subtle wind, a butterfly comes by,

And in it's throttle, brings colors the place has never seen,
Something new, out of ordinary, a spark of beauty and green,
Making the place belong, belong, giving it something to mean

An ode, to existence, the butterfly cries,

This dreariness isn't all that lies,
This sulk of never ending gloom,

What became of the jollies that bloomed,
If tis' were to be seen by the eye,
Would it perhaps cry?, or flat out die?

Listen, o infinite limitless being,
Feel the dormancy within you tingling,
Hear the warmth, and feel the soul,
You're all much more than lumps of coal,

Suddenly sensation, eyes open, self feels conscious,
there's beauty there's color, and no more disorder
Vision sparkles, and nature feels alive

All due, to the seasoned butterfly passing by.

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