We may slough off our chrysalis
and become butterflies.
We may return to the tree where we began
our journey,
branch and leaves the same
on the everlasting bough.
Our ephemeral earthly life was
But a dream, and now we've woken up;
where colour is not camouflage
where flying is reaching the very top
on the wing beats of eternity
I don't believe in the afterlife, but it's an interesting concept that you presented. Comparing the butterfly with a life with some kind of great colorful god in the heavens of our imagination.
Selected poems from previous & forthcoming collections together with Q&R apps on each page to enable audio rendition simultaneously with the written text
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Ron