The missing part
waits for us after all
this time: new growth, uneven
ringlets, the stacking of drying
wood, still green,
bees & flies each year
strangely look the same;
sometimes I think
it's sad we're still alive,
the rebellious left to struggle
against their chains.
From inside, the soul
picks at the flesh like
a wool sweater chafes
the skin,
wants us to feel
something that reminds us
the outside world is empty,
the cocoon will rip open
spill its wet, bright wings,
its upraised knees unfurling,
the sound of its hinges
deafening.
1 comment:
Evocative powerful images. After each rebirth the tint/hue of the details changes, but the world is still there waiting for me to make my bed and feed the cats. Deafening. And yet, as you show, everything has changed. Thank you.
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