When when my wings begin
to crush against me,
I shall remain
inside my chrysalis.
Almost to completion
until I imagine
a more intricate pattern.
And so I go on again

Never yielding to the sun,
which offers infinite freedom
in finite hours,
but to ponder it forever
from beneath the ponds surface.
Teasing the stem
that beckons me.

Where is the peak
of gravel and tar?
Along with the pinnacle,
of days spent sleeping?

 a voice unbroken.
a book lay open,
face down
week after week
collecting dust.
I will always be
a work in progress.


3 thoughts on “Pupa

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