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The butterfly does not break free triumphant. Once it claws through the chrysalis, it stands there shivering,

new wings aching as they slowly fill with blood.

It must keep its tiny eyes shut tight at first against the brightness and shimmer of a world it has never seen before—

not like this. It must listen until the soul’s voice whispers: The flowers are waiting. Leave the skin of the old life far behind. Open your eyes and give in to the blue air that will carry you everywhere you need to go.

Poem by James Crews Bluebird. Green Writers Press, 2020.

James Crews has a beautiful poetry site called The Singing Bowl, Poems from the Soul.

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