The dream is my cocoon.
A silent womb from which
With sudden surge
A butterfly may emerge
With peacock wings
To draw upon the nectar
Of bright flowers.
In such brief hours
A song is born
To renovate the soul,
So it may float into
A further dreaming.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love the creative mind allowed to wander and meander and create a new world within the one which we live. The dream state is the perfect incubator. Such a lovely poem Tom. Thanks!
I sometimes watch the meandering flight of butterflies and it does remind me of the way I feel about once I have a poem's theme. Thank you for your comment.