The Monarch
We give birth slowly
To ourselves.
We sleep
Never imaging
Our true grandeur
Until we wake up,
Unencumber ourselves
From our cocoon
And fly.
Usually the flight takes place
Unseen
Wrapped in the opaque shrouds
Of death.
Humans mourn
And bury their old cocoons.
Because their eyes
Cannot see the flight.
However when mortal eyes
Spy an empty butterfly’s cocoon beneath a leaf
They do not weep
But smile
Knowing
The transformation
Has occurred.
Why can't we muster
The same sentiment
At the human cocoon in it’s coffin?
Is it because we do not actually believe
The sacred writings we claim to revere?
Rare is he that does not weep.
Even more rare, the beautiful Monarch
Who returns
To show himself
To the unbeliever.
And rarer still the Monarch
He who changes before your very eyes.
That Monarch never tastes death
and transcends all.
Why not nibble yourself free
Right now?
---unAsleep