butterfly dawn

tho I’ve argued
that anger is sadness
its cries, unheard
anger exists
in different stages
arriving first
birthed
as a simple egg
mere possibility
a peace-dove’s meal, perhaps
should it survive
becoming a larvae
writhing within its muddy confusion
blind and dumb
unable to make sense of the world
in its continuing disillusionment
over inconsistency
over abandonment
over disloyalty
it grows legs
bares its teeth
snarling
with youth’s unfocused fury
the hair on its back, bristling
until the time comes
to cocoon
within solitude’s dwelling
its chrysalis grows, transforming
sprouting wings
awaiting Spring’s Dawn
emerging then, as a butterfly
in the end
finding peaceful acceptance
of itself
matured–
anger doesn’t shout–
as adolescence’s frustrated pleas
instead, becoming a patient murderer
a genius, misconceived
while all who see
its random-flutter flight
find hope’s illusion
nestled within its wings
rendered in pastels’ soft hues
floating gently
on Spring-winds’ drift

4 Replies to “butterfly dawn”

  1. I’ve read this a few times now, and I’m not sure if I feel relieved or terrified… lol! I mean, I love how the anger grows, matures, emerges as something beautiful, but the serial killer still lurks within it, seemingly capable of striking at the most vulnerable time.

    Perhaps you should write one now about resentment, and see about cracking open that core of darkness… 😉

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you for reading this one, Lisa. I suppose I took some liberties in using the term murderer.. I’ve never killed anyone so I don’t have first hand knowledge. However, I knew someone who did.. and it’d been a long time coming, something he’d been unable to stop himself from doing. Beneath all that anger was confusion and sadness. He appears in many of my poems, even if not directly referenced.

      Oh, and I like my darkness 😉 I’m only a little dark anyway, perhaps just able to see into those darker places without venturing too far inside.

      Liked by 1 person

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