Butterfly

I finally caught you today, little butterfly
You reappeared this afternoon
Just as I suspected, you're terribly sly
And only came after the flowers had bloomed

Well, I wore floral perfume today
So will you land on my shoulder?
There's a lot I wanted to say
Before you disappeared earlier

Yes, I wanted to ask how you've been
Where have you journeyed,
what places have you seen?
You left for a long while

Your wings seem to sparkle, as if you wink
Oh, I've seen so much, you reply
But you're completely silent, and I think
You're not leaving; why?

Then you flutter past my face, and in a sudden rush
You're no longer the white butterfly I once knew
Instead, a pretty man smiles at me, and I flush
The answer is clear, but I still want to ask 'who are you?'

You bow, removing your hat, smoothing your red coat
'Shall we?' you hold out your hand and I take it
Colors and pictures surround me, through the air we float
I open my eyes to find that I am lost, but it's with you

It's the Butterfly World, I guess, and it almost glitters
The most beautiful place I've ever seen
As you show me your world; I feel like I'm in a theater
Watching a fantasy film, or living in a dream

Your home is full of magic and mystery
'So this is where you go in winter'
You smile, eyes sparkling, looking at me
And you don't give me any answer

We see the ocean, the forest, the sky
We talk and laugh, you're like a good friend
You're a gentleman, Mr. Butterfly,
You are good to me; you're like a rare gem

I stare into your dark brown eyes; so gentle
You take my hands in yours; so warm
The moonlight kisses your face
And you kiss my lips.

I think to myself; who will believe this?
First person to speak to a butterfly,
Hold hands with a butterfly
Kiss a butterfly.

And now a man has become a butterfly
He's flown away from me again
It was all just a dream, but I won't cry
No; because this isn't the end


Little poem about my butterfly. He's been visiting me lately in our backyard, but I've only managed to get a few pictures of him.

What does he look like when he transforms? This is my best guess.

 Thanks for stopping by!

 Don't forget to say hi to your neighborhood butterfly next time you see him...you never know when he'll decide to transform back into a person. :P

-Argentia

Pensive...

I'm thinking.


 Even if everything is quiet, I still know
 The world is slowly turning
 The candle's wick is slowly burning
 The time is not long till we go

 Lights, action, fire, boldness, spirit
 Last chance to speak, quickly gone
 Without a guide, we won't last long
 For the first time, I stop believing it

 Run and run, keep trying to escape
 The trap's been set, I'm watching
 What do you think, just waiting?
 It won't change that I'm far too late

 What can I do when you don't want any help?


 -Argentia

Still a Writer?

So, I guess it's confession time-

I haven't written any short stories, or done anything in my novels, since November.

A few poems here and there is all.

I'm totally uninspired to write *anything* of length. Poetry, sure, I can cook you up a poem any time of day about just about anything. But lengthy writing with characters, plot, and more than three pages? Not recently.
 I look around me and see all these aspiring authors and authoresses who are always just plowing along through their writing, and they seem to never lose sight of a goal or lose their creativity. They also happen to be really good at it.

Starting at the beginning of this,
I've always been a 'writer'. I was writing stories at age 8, and I haven't stopped since.
 For 3 years, I mulled over some characters and ideas I'd come up with-who knows when; it's been so long, I've forgotten. Eventually, I decided to write a book about all these ideas and characters at age 12. I've had the same book sitting around in my documents for 4 years now. I only stopped writing on that thing 3 times; the first time being after I wrote the first chapter-I didn't write again for nearly a year. The second time being after I lost 20+ pages in a computer crash. The third time is now.
 As to my NaNo novel, I must admit I really, really, really love it. It's something I put a lot of time, effort and brain-power into, but no matter what I do...no inspiration comes. I can't finish it, or wrap up any lose ends. I have no idea where to begin or end the thing.

 I don't think anything is distracting me-I've tried ellimenating multiple things that could be the cause of the blockage on my creativity, but alas...banning myself from YouTube and forum sites does not help me refocus.

 I *can* locate one source of problems.
 Change of career choice.

 So, I never really thought I would be a professional writer anyway, right? But there was part of me that probably hoped I would.
 Now, I've change my focus to become a linguist. I want to learn to speak lots of languages fluently, and I'd love to teach other people to speak different languages, too. Communication is extremely fascinating to me; not to mention I love words, grammar...all of that jazz that also goes into the construction of language. 
 Apparently...I'm really good at it.

 I, honestly, don't think so, but I love it, so isn't that just as important?

 Rethinking stuff, I suppose I'm still a writer. I'll probably always write on the side; especially poetry.
 But I think I've found some things I really like-even more than I like writing. That's...saying a lot. >.<


 Okay, I think I'm done with my rant. All you writer friends that want me to help you edit things-I'm still available. All you writer friends that wanted to collaborate-I'm still horrible at it, but I'm still available.


 Bye!
 Ja-ne!
Anyeong!

 -Argent