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Butterfly Child

Rating: 4.4

hormonal soup
pulsing, congealing;
chrysalis carapace
throbbing, cracking;
unknown muscles
struggling, jerking
through paper jaws...
exhausted, immobile,
transformed, transfigured -
let me dry my wings.

Simone Inez Harriman 14 July 2008

I really like this poem. The whole, brilliant metamorphous. Thank you Bill.

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julesx 64 06 May 2008

Breathtaking, as you imagine that you are the butterfly breaking out and relieved to be free x

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Koyel Mitra 21 September 2008

Excellent write.Great metaphor! A 10!

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Susan Jarvis 31 August 2008

Superb command of language. This succinct and eloquent poem paints a vivid picture. It is also an aural acievement. Magnificent! S :)

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Yvonne Rautenbach 04 August 2008

To be honest I usually prefer poems with rhyme rhythm or both but somehow your poem here entertains me where many of its kind do not. It must be the excellent choice of words...

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Lourdes Schopenhauer 31 July 2008

another great one. Brilliant imagery, superb choice of words.

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Sandra Fowler 20 July 2008

Fascinating. You definately have a way with words. Ten for this. As always, Sandra

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