Butterfly. Small. Harmless. Colorful. Deceiving. Aviator. Evolutions. Caterpillars. Trees. The holes in leaves. Nets.
Tyler
the butterflies fluttered throughout the sky as the sky turned a deep blue. The blue butterfly flew in the front and traveled from one flower to the next, trying to get as much nectar as possible so that hey may have some sort of food.
blah
It was odd seeing him like this; secured, sedated, serene. They say he butchered twelve women in all, one had been found in the chest freezer with the fish fingers and peas. My Son. I picture him aged seven, in the garden, pulling the wings off a cabbage white butterfly.
Butterflies emerging from cocoons… ugly ducklings transforming into swans… What about someone who’s already beautiful? What happens when a beautiful person goes into a cocoon? I’ve never known of one who came out again. What happens to them?
Noisy Quiet
leichte flügel schlagen sanft, berühren mein gesicht. wie ein kuss der sternenfee so weich, so kommst du, fliegst du, setzt du dich. und bist schon wieder fort, wie ein moment, so kurz und doch so intensiv. so schön und doch so weit.
Wildwrites
Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. – Muhammad Ali
butterfly! it’s the creature that holds a strange position in my life. i don’t find them particularly beautiful, but somehow i feel attracted to their motifs. the idea of butterflies just intrigues me.
kaorita
flutter by not a cliche at all yellow cabbage white out of sight you’ll never catch one if you try they’re soooooo deceptive in their flight. Long tongue where the bee sucks, there suck I and the butterfly not a fly at all, on or off the wall
Mike Munn
You’re like a butterfly, he said to her in his mind, wandering between the flowers, fooling each flower into thinking it’s special, it’s the most beautiful, when you are already far away, when the memories of all the flowers have blurred in your mind.
There all around us, the butterfly are beautiful creatures that we see flying through the air and adding beauty to the days of our live
victor walkes
I saw a butterfly flying through the sky the other day. It looked so beautiful with its symmetrical patterns full of color on its wings. I pondered what it would be like to be a butterfly for a day. I bet they see magnifiecent things.
erica
butterflies are very beautiful insecs. they are colorful. i like butterflies a lot. they go in search of flowers which have nectar. butterflies can fly as they have 2 wings. they are very delicate insects. they live only for a few days. they are the evolved form of caterpillars and moths.
abhinav
I recall seeing a butterfly while out in the surrounding countryside. Nowhere in the actual heart of Midgar would I spot one. The city was not made for such natural beauty.
Metamorphosis is a cliche subject in such an enlightened age, and yet, the transformation from caterpillar to butterfly remains as one of the most poignant metaphors for life. For any change, really…
why didn’t she see the beauty? Because she only saw the fragility, the inherent vulnerability. It wasn’t beautiful, it was breaking. I looked her in the eyes but I couldn’t find her. She was lost. She was crushed before she even learned to fly.
manda
What a beautiful butterfly! I have never seen one with that gorgeous red pattern on its wings before! It is fascinating to watch it flitter about amongst the while flowers – it stands out beautifully!
There it is, fluttering in the sun, all alone. Yet, it does not feel lonely. No, not in the least. The red poppies in the field spread out far, as wides as the eye can see. These are what keeps this little creature company. The best friend of all, however, is the sun, with its mild warming rays.
It flutters. Up and down, fast and slow it goes. It does as it pleases. It has no cares in the world. That is not to say that it has no aim. No, on the contrary; it is searching, searching for the most beautiful flower, the brightest and most brilliant of red petals. Oh how heavenly the succulent nectar becomes it!
Charlene Kuehn
oh how you fly and oh how I cry as I imagine that you used to be a lumpy caterpillar with no idea that how slow you were going had nothing to do with the grace you had inside and the color and the swiftness…it was all there no matter what you did or didn’t, how fast you were or weren’t
Ane Axford
“Follow it!” she said. That was easy for her to say. The butterfly was fluttering about, but every time I tried getting close, it seemed to be able to anticipate my moves, and flutter just enough to make me look like a fool for trying to catch it at all. I was a fool I guess. Back in those days we all were.
I left you on wings like spun sugar, not thinking of the sun and how hot it could beam.
“No!” I cried, “I will fly among the stars! And they will be like me, and we will be one!”
You watched me go sadly, you, you knowing what ugly thing I had come from. It was you who held my hand in the cocoon of discontent. You knew knew spring would turn to summer, which would turn to fall.
It was I who did not know of winter.
And still, you let me go – something I would blame you for, later, no doubt.
You can’t end what you never began. The caterpillar spins itself a silk suit, lying inside of it like a casket. But its casket is not at Death’s door, it is merely the beginning. Without creating a case for itself, the caterpillar would never have become a butterfly as beautiful as it was when it reached death.
Mariposa. A butterfly is so pretty. Cocoon. Silicoon. Cascoon. Mothim. Buterfree. Wow there’s more butterfly related pokemon but it would be super dorky to list them all. But wait I already listed most of them.
Butterflies are free to fly, fly away, butterfly. Oh my gosh, I have had that song running through my head for what seems like months already. I don’t know the cure for it. Maybe I need to sing something else, good and loud. But it’s better than the one about the rhinestone cowboy, or Copacabana, or put the lime in the coconut and drink it all up.
Kathleen Gabriel
It flittered up from the depths of the grassy foledge. I saw it come. Closer… closer. It lands delicately on the flower.
Sandy
She found butterflies in the coffin they would use to bury her sister. Four butterflies, each glowing effervescently, like bubbles in beer.
The butterfly is a curious insect. It floats through the air with the careless nonchalance of a dandruff-laden head. That is, it exists without an immediately perceivable purpose.
Alexandra Bournelis
the butterfly was tattooed on her skin, he soft, small wrist to be more clear. it didn’t just stand for best friends, it marked a turning point in her life, the moment she gave up her addictions, her battle with self harm, her self image. she become stronger with each jolt of the needle, she was moving on, growing up and letting go.
The caterpillar wraps itself in a protective cocoon. Nothing can see it inside, penetrate its outer casing. It needs this time alone to discover what it can be, a butterfly, beautiful and confident.
It felt like everything was over, the world completely falling apart. What had seemed so real, so sure, so solid was melting away. Into the cocoon I retreated to rest and replenish. Who will emerge?
I drew a butterfly on my leg. i said to myself, if you drag out that ol’ blade of yours, you kill the butterfly. and so i left the butterfly there for weeks. i didn’t cut for weeks. now i feel i can’t survive with out this butterfly; this butterfly that saved my life.
laughalot
She laid back on the soft green grass, the sun rays falling through the trees and resting upon her butterflies of light.
Krista
As they were walking down a narrow hedge lined path, Sylvia outstretched both of her arms, closed her eyes, and began to run her hands over the meticulously maintained mountain laruel hedges that had just began to flower to guide her way. Peter walked cautiously behind his free spirited best friend, trying not to trip over the rocky earth beneath him while listening to Sylvia drone on about another theory she had read about in her father’s library. After knowing her for over 15 years, Peter had developed a way to tune her out yet still listen to what she said. He would often just observe the world around him and appreciate the beauty that he was surrounded by. That was the difference between the two of them; Sylvia was oblivious to everything around her, whereas Peter saw every little detail. For instance, Peter noticed the single wispy cloud that was slowly drifting through the seemingly endless cornflower blue sky, the way the sun shone perfectly into the maze-like path, illuminating each slightly yellowing leaf, the delicately angelic butterfly fluttering through crispy late winter air, and even the small purple daisy petal that was intertwined in Sylvia’s thickly curled golden chestnut hair.
“Butterflies are free!” Said my father at my cousins wedding. “No they aren’t, I paid for these cake decorations” She was not the happiest bride. And she just couldn’t figure out why everyone was laughing.
Fly. Fly far away from here. Don’t come back. There are many flowers, many places, many things you must see first. Don’t stay here too long. Why are you still lingering? Go off. It is free for you. You have no connections, no reason to stay. Why are you here? Leave. Leave as fast as you can. Don’t look back. Go. Go. Go. Do what I can’t.
Butterfly. Small. Harmless. Colorful. Deceiving. Aviator. Evolutions. Caterpillars. Trees. The holes in leaves. Nets.
the butterflies fluttered throughout the sky as the sky turned a deep blue. The blue butterfly flew in the front and traveled from one flower to the next, trying to get as much nectar as possible so that hey may have some sort of food.
It was odd seeing him like this; secured, sedated, serene. They say he butchered twelve women in all, one had been found in the chest freezer with the fish fingers and peas. My Son. I picture him aged seven, in the garden, pulling the wings off a cabbage white butterfly.
Butterflies emerging from cocoons… ugly ducklings transforming into swans… What about someone who’s already beautiful? What happens when a beautiful person goes into a cocoon? I’ve never known of one who came out again. What happens to them?
leichte flügel schlagen sanft, berühren mein gesicht. wie ein kuss der sternenfee so weich, so kommst du, fliegst du, setzt du dich. und bist schon wieder fort, wie ein moment, so kurz und doch so intensiv. so schön und doch so weit.
Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. – Muhammad Ali
butterfly! it’s the creature that holds a strange position in my life. i don’t find them particularly beautiful, but somehow i feel attracted to their motifs. the idea of butterflies just intrigues me.
flutter by not a cliche at all yellow cabbage white out of sight you’ll never catch one if you try they’re soooooo deceptive in their flight. Long tongue where the bee sucks, there suck I and the butterfly not a fly at all, on or off the wall
You’re like a butterfly, he said to her in his mind, wandering between the flowers, fooling each flower into thinking it’s special, it’s the most beautiful, when you are already far away, when the memories of all the flowers have blurred in your mind.
There all around us, the butterfly are beautiful creatures that we see flying through the air and adding beauty to the days of our live
I saw a butterfly flying through the sky the other day. It looked so beautiful with its symmetrical patterns full of color on its wings. I pondered what it would be like to be a butterfly for a day. I bet they see magnifiecent things.
butterflies are very beautiful insecs. they are colorful. i like butterflies a lot. they go in search of flowers which have nectar. butterflies can fly as they have 2 wings. they are very delicate insects. they live only for a few days. they are the evolved form of caterpillars and moths.
I recall seeing a butterfly while out in the surrounding countryside. Nowhere in the actual heart of Midgar would I spot one. The city was not made for such natural beauty.
Metamorphosis is a cliche subject in such an enlightened age, and yet, the transformation from caterpillar to butterfly remains as one of the most poignant metaphors for life. For any change, really…
why didn’t she see the beauty? Because she only saw the fragility, the inherent vulnerability. It wasn’t beautiful, it was breaking. I looked her in the eyes but I couldn’t find her. She was lost. She was crushed before she even learned to fly.
What a beautiful butterfly! I have never seen one with that gorgeous red pattern on its wings before! It is fascinating to watch it flitter about amongst the while flowers – it stands out beautifully!
There it is, fluttering in the sun, all alone. Yet, it does not feel lonely. No, not in the least. The red poppies in the field spread out far, as wides as the eye can see. These are what keeps this little creature company. The best friend of all, however, is the sun, with its mild warming rays.
Stay. Dance with me today.
It flutters. Up and down, fast and slow it goes. It does as it pleases. It has no cares in the world. That is not to say that it has no aim. No, on the contrary; it is searching, searching for the most beautiful flower, the brightest and most brilliant of red petals. Oh how heavenly the succulent nectar becomes it!
oh how you fly and oh how I cry as I imagine that you used to be a lumpy caterpillar with no idea that how slow you were going had nothing to do with the grace you had inside and the color and the swiftness…it was all there no matter what you did or didn’t, how fast you were or weren’t
“Follow it!” she said. That was easy for her to say. The butterfly was fluttering about, but every time I tried getting close, it seemed to be able to anticipate my moves, and flutter just enough to make me look like a fool for trying to catch it at all. I was a fool I guess. Back in those days we all were.
I left you on wings like spun sugar, not thinking of the sun and how hot it could beam.
“No!” I cried, “I will fly among the stars! And they will be like me, and we will be one!”
You watched me go sadly, you, you knowing what ugly thing I had come from. It was you who held my hand in the cocoon of discontent. You knew knew spring would turn to summer, which would turn to fall.
It was I who did not know of winter.
And still, you let me go – something I would blame you for, later, no doubt.
I flew on wings of spun sugar.
You can’t end what you never began. The caterpillar spins itself a silk suit, lying inside of it like a casket. But its casket is not at Death’s door, it is merely the beginning. Without creating a case for itself, the caterpillar would never have become a butterfly as beautiful as it was when it reached death.
Mariposa. A butterfly is so pretty. Cocoon. Silicoon. Cascoon. Mothim. Buterfree. Wow there’s more butterfly related pokemon but it would be super dorky to list them all. But wait I already listed most of them.
Free from the prison of awkwardness: I’m back!
Goodbye
Butterflies are free to fly, fly away, butterfly. Oh my gosh, I have had that song running through my head for what seems like months already. I don’t know the cure for it. Maybe I need to sing something else, good and loud. But it’s better than the one about the rhinestone cowboy, or Copacabana, or put the lime in the coconut and drink it all up.
It flittered up from the depths of the grassy foledge. I saw it come. Closer… closer. It lands delicately on the flower.
She found butterflies in the coffin they would use to bury her sister. Four butterflies, each glowing effervescently, like bubbles in beer.
The butterfly is a curious insect. It floats through the air with the careless nonchalance of a dandruff-laden head. That is, it exists without an immediately perceivable purpose.
the butterfly was tattooed on her skin, he soft, small wrist to be more clear. it didn’t just stand for best friends, it marked a turning point in her life, the moment she gave up her addictions, her battle with self harm, her self image. she become stronger with each jolt of the needle, she was moving on, growing up and letting go.
The caterpillar wraps itself in a protective cocoon. Nothing can see it inside, penetrate its outer casing. It needs this time alone to discover what it can be, a butterfly, beautiful and confident.
It felt like everything was over, the world completely falling apart. What had seemed so real, so sure, so solid was melting away. Into the cocoon I retreated to rest and replenish. Who will emerge?
spread wings
caterpillar
growth
beauty
freedom
Easton Ray (R.I.P)
Billy Ray
graceful
unforgettable
smell with their feet :P
I drew a butterfly on my leg. i said to myself, if you drag out that ol’ blade of yours, you kill the butterfly. and so i left the butterfly there for weeks. i didn’t cut for weeks. now i feel i can’t survive with out this butterfly; this butterfly that saved my life.
She laid back on the soft green grass, the sun rays falling through the trees and resting upon her butterflies of light.
As they were walking down a narrow hedge lined path, Sylvia outstretched both of her arms, closed her eyes, and began to run her hands over the meticulously maintained mountain laruel hedges that had just began to flower to guide her way. Peter walked cautiously behind his free spirited best friend, trying not to trip over the rocky earth beneath him while listening to Sylvia drone on about another theory she had read about in her father’s library. After knowing her for over 15 years, Peter had developed a way to tune her out yet still listen to what she said. He would often just observe the world around him and appreciate the beauty that he was surrounded by. That was the difference between the two of them; Sylvia was oblivious to everything around her, whereas Peter saw every little detail. For instance, Peter noticed the single wispy cloud that was slowly drifting through the seemingly endless cornflower blue sky, the way the sun shone perfectly into the maze-like path, illuminating each slightly yellowing leaf, the delicately angelic butterfly fluttering through crispy late winter air, and even the small purple daisy petal that was intertwined in Sylvia’s thickly curled golden chestnut hair.
“Butterflies are free!” Said my father at my cousins wedding. “No they aren’t, I paid for these cake decorations” She was not the happiest bride. And she just couldn’t figure out why everyone was laughing.
I like the way butterflies look when they fly. They are still creepy little bugs with spider legs.
Fly. Fly far away from here. Don’t come back. There are many flowers, many places, many things you must see first. Don’t stay here too long. Why are you still lingering? Go off. It is free for you. You have no connections, no reason to stay. Why are you here? Leave. Leave as fast as you can. Don’t look back. Go. Go. Go. Do what I can’t.
The wind gently surrounded me in a cold loving embrace and as I held my arms out the smallest of butterflies landed on my outstretched hand.