Cocoon

My old hands were like butterfly
Once beautiful and delicate
A million grains of imprisoned skies as
One thousand thoughts; intricate,
But what now they remember
Is only the crushing weight,
Of cold steel left to rust
And rough edges of granite slate
Till one day they tremble
Like withered wings to feel no pain
And fall asleep sans memory
In a cocoon, to be a moth again

7 thoughts on “Cocoon”

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