The Price of a Butterfly

It didn’t cost much, the sweet darkness of this sanctuary,

swaddled in protective murkiness, yet deeply getting weary.

 

Nudging, heaving, groveling through the dimness of this womb,

vexing turmoil, spiraling battle, perhaps a glorious doom.

 

Chilling harshly with enigma on the other side,

softly drawing you with a gentle cunning glide.

 

Drowning in a tumultuously loathing sea, while wavering in obscurity,

and yearning to be free!

 

Inside a navel cavity, hollowed by the gushing sound,

of nothing but its own heartbeat, feeling so confound!

 

Allowing the self to conform in the comfort of this home,

gaping at the former self, and feeling so alone.

 

Securely embedded in the cushion of this gloomy, yet soothing lullaby,

still craving its deliverance with ample wings to fly.

 

Like a child in a crib when the parent leaves the room,

feeling so abandoned, sensing all its gloom.

 

Light probing through the endless grueling abyss,

nothing calm or lucid, just the piercing ray you cannot miss.

 

Afflicted by evolving in this crammed and eerie space,

further traveling towards an emptier sinking place.

 

Advancing through this dark and winding tunnel,

searching for a way that love will have its funnel.

 

Feeling briskly drifting to this state unknown,

as if it was a race that’s surely has been won.

 

Breaking through the sharp edges of this deeply punctured soul,

praying something wonderful clearly soon will show.

 

Fragments dwindling from the psyche ripped asunder,

this isn’t what it ought; it’s leaving such a wonder.

 

Painfully fluxing when permeating the initial wing,

  save while scanning the horizon, the heart will surely sing.

 

Abruptly stretching forth wings into a new world, the mind completely and utterly unfolds,

taking into flight, further away from this dark and dreary night.

 

Observing these new colors encompassing throughout,

emanating from the beaming self, there’s definitely no doubt.

 

If a butterfly could cry, it would reveal enduring pain in its darkest hour,

it was the price to pay to reach the highest tower.

 

It didn’t cost anything only the entire self,

to attain this kind of miraculous and wondrous wealth.

 

You see, little canker, while you’re crawling on the ground,

what you’re searching for in due time, will truly soon be found.

 

Wishing and wondering what it’s like to mount the sky,

not knowing what the cost is to be a butterfly.

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741