If perhaps this is but a stage of my metamorphosis, you should be lucky you had the opportunity to be my chrysalis. If I’m an immersing butterfly onto the current of the wind, you were the cocoon in which I was cradled.
If I’m a baby bird leaping from its nest for the very first time, you had the luxury of providing a nest for me.
If I’m a young that must front the harshness of this world, you were the mother that cradled me, wings of comfort, the beak that nurtured and fed me.
I know I’m grateful to have met you and to have come to known your kindness. I must now be liberated into the wind like scattered flower seeds into an empty garden. Or like the wings of birds who to the wind sunders in flight. Or like the horizon of the sunrise at the end of dawns terror. —— Or like slaves into a field of white clouds, or into the quivering ivory of coffee they dared not to taste.
If I am a blooming flower, you were the thorn nearest to my bud. If I am the brightest star, it’s because you were the star that didn’t shine.
MisterPoet
Mr. Poet 