Butterfly Child Poem by Wild Bill Balding
Butterfly Child
hormonal soup
pulsing, congealing;
chrysalis carapace
throbbing, cracking;
unknown muscles
struggling, jerking
through paper jaws...
exhausted, immobile,
transformed, transfigured -
let me dry my wings.
I really like this poem. The whole, brilliant metamorphous. Thank you Bill.
Superb command of language. This succinct and eloquent poem paints a vivid picture. It is also an aural acievement. Magnificent! S :)
To be honest I usually prefer poems with rhyme rhythm or both but somehow your poem here entertains me where many of its kind do not. It must be the excellent choice of words...
another great one. Brilliant imagery, superb choice of words.
Fascinating. You definately have a way with words. Ten for this. As always, Sandra
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/30/2024 9:13:16 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Breathtaking, as you imagine that you are the butterfly breaking out and relieved to be free x