This poem is not a new one for me. I wrote it several years ago after a long, dark struggle. I came across it tonight as I was looking through some old files, and again it spoke to me.
We are free.
When the butterfly struggles
Out of the clenching confines
Of the dark cocoon
If it flies right away
Without a fear
Or a looking back over its wing
With a shudder, at the prison?
If without hesitation
It stretches its wings
And flutters away
No more to think of the long dark struggle
That lasted interminably
In that age long moment of not knowing
If daylight would ever be seen?
If it ever thinks
It is still trapped back there
And forgets it has the means to fly
But struggles wingless in the dust
Trapped in a cocoon of the mind
Remembering the darkness?
If the butterfly ever fears the cocoon will come again
Or if it knows the freedom it has been given
Will last as long as the turning seasons
Bring out their shades of blue and gold and green?
And it goes dancing over the meadows
Free and unfettered?