Transformation

As the devil"s disciple, I've 'oft times been wrong,
harsh sounds flung in fury, have litter'd my past.
But reason drowns madness, where conscience swims strong,
thus anger's flame chills, unveiling, love's spark at last.

Like a caterpillar creeping a subhuman path,
each act was a thread in my sordid cocoon.
Far better oblivion, from some chance step of wrath,
then this madness of spinning one's life to its ruin.

Unfathomed patience, not my own, set me free,
'mongst flowers of joy, then flitted my being.
Born aloft, e'er finding, new ecstasy,
sipping each nectar within reach of my wing.

Ah...this wing'd one hover'd at last 'mongst life's flowers,
ne'er thinking his wings, so soon would be dust.
But as nectars neglected, are destined to sour,
so too, life's nimble moments seem breath'd in a gust.

As the butterfly needs topple to its fate in the fall,
so the heart murmurs too, and then ceases to beat.
Life's toxic glass lies shatter'd, 'neath the om'nous wall,
and dreams become nothing, though once they were sweet.

When the fickle oak again tints her heart,
and like a butterfly, fluttering down, I topple to earth,
cradle me well, for 'tis fitting to part,
lulled by that, which gave wing to my birth.

Yes, cradle me well, for 'tis fitting to part,
lulled by that.....which gave wing to my birth....