As you spread your wings
and gazed at each blossom,
my trimmings caught your
fancy
and pursued me no end;
You thought your quest has ended
for a bloom that you could
own.
Farthest from my thoughts was to deny
that your flaps were a
soothing symphony,
that I beheld a rainbow so
majestic
each time your wings
descended from the sky,
and that your touch
caressed
as the blue canopy nurtures
the earth.
My longing for your presence
made me rooted on the
ground
and accept that I was earth
. . . and you were sky,
that I was chained,
confined
and you were as free as
wind,
that I was to wait and long
for you . . .
Lest I might completely forget . . .
I now let go of thoughts of
you;
I, too, must ascend
for the earth is not my
ground;
I, too, must transcend
this delusion I called my
home.
I, too, must spread my wings
for I must fly and wither
not on the ground;
I, too, must try my flaps
for I belong to the winds;
I must rise up, for the sky – which know no bounds
--
is my abode.
I, too, am a butterfly
. . . for I AM FREE AND NOT CHAINED.
philip briana
March
26, 1997
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