CATERPILLAR

It seems safer to inch along a proven way,

refusing to look up, refusing to hope.

I can expect nods of approval

if I stay inside comfortable lines.

Others might favour me

with a smile and ‘thank you’

if I follow instructions.

It seems expedient to gorge

and keep busy

spinning a silken cradle

to hide my unkempt self.

 

Death awaits, a soothing resolution

to unanswered questions and puzzles never attempted.

But some insist it is a door to Mystery –

not restful sleep, but psychedelic dreams,

unanticipated reconstruction.

 

When I awake, must I begin again?

Biting and pushing

to release my wet, uncertain wings

to unknown winds?

                                       February 2014