Molten Poetry

Let it burn.

Don’t wait so long.

Petrified cocoons
may still afford
a view, but, nonetheless,
you’ll miss your cue,
to pry at the edges,
finally, set loose
and freed to unfurl
your Monarch wings
and reach into the sky,
where your yellow and black
will meet the purest blue.

Don’t wait so long to be you.

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