a poem by matt ⭒ august 25, 2026
if hope really is a dangerous thing,
then I would be standing on the cliffside—
not staring bleakly into the abyss below,
but gazing at the great horizons ahead:
eyes still teary with childlike wonder,
head spinning with cautious optimism,
heart full of emotion I'd never once felt.
if happiness really is like a butterfly,
then it would rest gently on my fingertips—
wings glistening delicately in the sunrise,
finally free to flutter away into this world:
and if they come with their webs and nets,
it would land back into my warm embrace,
blooming more new flowers in my mind.
and as I stroll memory lane one last time,
innocent hope and happiness intertwine—
inviting me away from the familiar path,
into an ivy-lined garden of butterflies:
where four years of wanderlust await
beyond the grand wrought-iron gates.
and walking in, I realize, that's my Place.
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