I thought I was the butterfly
fluttering against the pane
to seek an opening through
and hide my deckle edged wings
among spotted ragged leaves
in a tangled land of bramble
I thought I was the moth-
a kind of butterfly goth,
strange outlier of the night,
waiting for the light,
unfurled at last from my cocoon
And reaching for the moon
I thought I was the bee
in a shape shifting swarm,
searching for a new place
where I would feel at home-
A hive filled with the golden hum
of sweetness and activity
I thought I was the tree
with bare and broken bough
But where the wind tore
parts of me away I saw-
the tiny buds of hopeful leaves
And a different story grow
I thought I was a metaphor-
that I could metamorphose
into something more,
and with morse code marks
create an allegory.
But I reached another page
and realised after all-
that I was simply… me
Ann Blockley 2017- A first poem
