Tangible only to the fingers of the human soul,
Dwells a figment of pure imagination,
But in reality,
A lone little caterpillar,
Patiently awaiting the arrival of spring.
Throughout her peaceful slumber,
An illusion emerges from within,
Envisioning a place where walls are non-existent,
And clouds drift softly by.
The tiny creature is perceived in this world of quiescent isolation,
Dangling helplessly from the end of a single strand of golden rope,
That extends overhead as far as the eye can see.
A voice is heard from afar,
And with words like a mother's,
The caterpillar was urged to climb,
And escape the world of uncertainty,
Which lay somewhere beneath the uninviting darkness.
Fearful of venturing beyond the reach of the guiding light,
Held within her grasp,
She climbed upward,
With assurance the right choice had been made.
When, just for a moment's time,
Propelled by instinct alone,
She allowed herself to fixate once more,
At the land that lurked below,
And as if struck by lightning,
She freed herself from the endless torture she knew would come,
Had she reached the top.
Letting her body fall where no one could catch her,
She woke up. . .a butterfly.