Pupa

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

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.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s