Wrapped
in my shroud,
I am blind to Your brilliance.
Larval squirmings, procedural dues, envelop
mind and consume corpse so that all I feel is the pain
of becoming; the razor-edge ritual, this
infernal breakdown of internal structure,
this corpuscle soup I slaver and
squirm in throttles
all impetus.
But
in order to fly,
legs must be leashed. In order to soar,
wings must be hammered thin as air. Remake me.
Reset each molecule, retune each cell, that each atom
would sing the frequency of its conception, that
restoration and healing would croon cocoon.
That larval limping and caterpillar
crawl would collapse, gutted.
And the writhe, be
butterflied.
Meanwhile, Melody Muses... 
Beautiful butterfly shape in the words. It’s ready to fly.
Thank you! I had to really play around with it to give it wings…. worth the effort, though!
Easily one of your best. This one’s got real teeth.
Wow. Thanks, Rob…
My pleasure. A bunch of these and you’ve got yourself a book.
Is 700 enough? I’ll hit that this week…
Of this particular style? The non-rhyming, lyrical, meandering type with a mystical edge to them…
Mmmm – rather less of those. They way you put it, I want to read THAT kind! 🙂
Really beautiful and thought provoking!
Thank you very much! 🙂
Love your take on this photo, Melody. I like your descriptive wording. It is an action poem and at the same time a moment of tranquil contemplation. 🙂 PS- with a slight tip of the screen upward, one man’s butterfly becomes another man’s black widow, pouncing on unwary husband that suddenly lights up in fright… lololol 😀
😀 To each his own interpretation…
Wow, that is really hard to say with sincerity (“legs must be leashed… wings must be hammered…remake me”…). Reminds me of the old song, “Break me, melt me, mold me, fill me…Spirit of the living God, fall fresh on me.” Those are the original words, though they were changed a few years ago and they took out “break me”. Could it be that God is looking for that humility and willingness that you so eloquently wrote in this poem? Thanks for the challenge, Wendy!
Thanks Daisy. In order for the caterpillar to morph, its entire system is broken down to cell soup, to be rebuilt. There is something to this picture of nature that relates well to our spiritual lives, too – in order to be free, our old ideas and biases and nature needs to be remade. Pain may just be a natural part of this awesome process…
You’re right. That is what the Scriptures tell us. …as painful as it is at times. Thank God that “His grace is sufficient, for His strength is made perfect in weakness.”
Ah, I needed that reminder. Thank you….
Btw, I’m so sorry… I meant to say Melody! See? There goes my weakness showing up! haha I hope you were not offended, my friend.
Oh, no – if you meant my fellow poet Wendy, I’m honored rather than offended. Some days I can’t even keep my kids’ names straight. (And I only have 2!) 😀
Beautiful and thought provoking too.
Hmmm – I replied to this already but it popped up as not answered – so if you got 2, don’t be alarmed! 🙂 Thanks! 🙂
First, I thought ew and then ah!
Ah ha! 🙂 I thought I already answered this one but it popped up as not – so if you get 2 responses, you know what happened!
This was the first reply, Melody.
This is a complicated poem, and it isn’t “pretty” – this is your intent. Becoming a butterfly is messy, sacred business.
God bless you!
Wow – I love the way yo put ‘messy’ and ‘sacred’ together – a poem in the making! For that is just exactly the way I have experienced the metamorphal process!
It came across, Melody.
Good!
I love the verb “butterflied”. Saying prayers down here, confident in faith.
Thanks…lots…
As always, lovely and beautiful.
Thanks Millie!
I agree with Robert . ..this was an outstanding poem! I forget where, but read a post about a gentleman that kept a cocoon of a moth, and when it tried to come out, it was struggling so, so he helped it by widening the cocoon’s neck. The moth got out more easily, but actually needed the process of squeezing out through the narrow opening, in order for it’s wings to be pressed and able to dry. His moth never flew and died . Sorry, that was a sad story, but just reminded me of your poem, of what we need to go through in order to fly. 🙂
I’ve heard of that, too – such a built-in object lesson of how our struggles build up our faith and endurance!