They told him to wait,
to cradle the cocoon gently,
like holding a secret too tender
for the loudness of the world.
But patience is a foreign language,
and his hands speak urgency.
So when the cocoon trembled,
an answer to some ancient call,
he reached for the scissors.
The thin shell parted like paper,
revealing wings yet unfinished,
veins too frail for the sky.
He wanted to help it grow,
to rush freedom into an open air,
but the butterfly fell to earth,
wings folded, breath slipping away.
No one told him the struggle was
the recipe for flight,
that sometimes the hardest thing
is to hold back your saving hands.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: March 5th, 2026 12:09
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
True not only for butterflies but children and all other animals. Did the same with an egg once and the chick came out sickly and did not survive. A fave
Thanks Soren. What the hell happened to this site? I have ads popping up in the middle of scrolling
You are welcome Gray I don't know I got one when trying to post a poem the I could not find an x out of and had to get out and reenter two times before I could post. It hasn't come back after but was annoying.
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