If I can be a turtle
I’ll have the ocean as my mother.
Just for one day,
confined to a shell with no escape.
I can glide through the current
with love and contentment,
all while being silent.
I’ll bask on any foreign shore,
breathing in its folklore.
Wisdom from my eyes
will surpass the infinite skies.
Heading back to sea,
these golden shores I leave,
eggs of life and future dreams.
Pillows of cut
bananas and raspberries
adorn the mattress of batter—
soft and conforming to the cut.
A plate of earthy gifts
rests on my lap
from the comfort of my bed.
Embedded are sunsets and clouds
upon the wings of a Monarch butterfly.
Their steadfast prowess against the wind
can be justified by its instinctual commitment.
Where and why do they go
stirring up placidness and tornadoes?
why question a bug worth admiring?