Categories
Poetry

Withering

A rose. Think of it.

How like a rose we are.

Beginning as seed, gently, a bud.

How we open,

slowly,

never seeing our petals born;

never guessing when, at last,

the last

will fall.

And when we wither,

wrinkle and darling grey:

the beautiful rose that lived.

Think of it.

How easily we forget who we are.

Devine and growing.

Think of it.

Think of how lovely.

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Categories
Life

Butterfly

Do you think a caterpillar knows, upon entering her cocoon, that she will soon die to the only form she’s ever known?

Do you think she is afraid of the dark of the wait, or what might find her on the other side of it all?

Do you think she knows she will soon have wings, and that, though she couldn’t fly before, soon she will soar?

Do you think she wonders what the world might look like, from up there?

Some say the caterpillar is ugly, and that the butterfly is truly the most beautiful version of life she can be.

I say she was always beautiful.

I say she’ll simply be a different kind of beautiful when she grows her wings.

Life is a process of being. Some days the butterfly will be still, some days she will burst into the sky, a flutter of speed.

But despite her many faces, she will always be.

Perhaps that’s her most beautiful part.