They Fly In Threes

They Fly In Threes

Leather sofa of grubby cream, I sat not waiting for a dream.

Sitting wide awake last night, planning munching… something light.

Pressure turns my head one way, felt my senses fall away.

Now can’t feel the grubby leather, don’t feel sofa all together.     

Heart is racing far too fast, at this pace I’m not going to last.

Fear is keeping me held down, I let it go and lose the town.

They fly in threes, I’m in the middle our destination still a riddle.

And now they sing their soaring song, pretty soon I sing along.

They fly on tracks that are not clear, lighted objects pass so near,

No collision, perfect flow, neon beings of indigo.

Blocks and buildings, eyes no lids, twisting creatures, pyramids.       

This realm this place I’m really here, but where is here I’m lost I fear.

Is now the ending of my life? What will they tell my darling wife?

We found him in this grubby seat, sacred to death, like frozen meat.

Ending was not why I went or why I came back slightly spent.

They had a plan these friends of mine, butterflies of the divine.

Snatching from the dirty leather, neon wings don’t need a feather.

This ride was not a roller coaster, nor whimsy of a psychic boaster.

As I flew they stripped me quick, Armour that I thought so thick.

Chunks of gnarly scarry weight clearing anger, draining hate.

Taking wants and bursting need, leaving me, a person seed.

So much pain the death the hurt, seem to find themselves inert.

And there I am the real me, a quarter century lost at sea.

I remember you, the inner me, so this is how we used to be.

I feel so big yet tiny too, learning things, I never new.

But flying so nude while sort of nice, cannot last without a price.

And by and by they called my name, time for me to dress again.

Forget your tattered garb they sing, we’ll dress you as a Dragon King.

Scaly Armour, fitted sleek, free to move, protected deep.

Dressing thus feelings like a start, a play in which I have a part.

And so they sing a non- goodbye, and silently away they fly.

They fly in threes, love locked together, my eyes are open sat on leather.

These butterflies, with first class flight, have given me a gift of sight.