Transformation Poem by Andy Brookes

dreaming of St Micheal'sitshulk rising out the mist high like a lonely an enchanted tower, black and fearful.
a hundred and eight steps to reach the summit save the princess if you can.
first you have to cross waters green, battledemons and try and understand why you were defeated at the first attempt.

waking sadly realise you never fit in and that scaling those towers no longer matters because no matter what you do the time for battles is over, needing sometimes, to leave behind the past, not to disturb settled ground, fences unmended, doors unopened; letting the sword drop to the dust.

small town minds and small time concerns seem too bleak to contemplate.
just be thankful you got out with your soul intact and though your psyche's patched like an old stitched garment, you remain you, not the you someone else wantedyou to be, proud to be a round brick resisting the square hole.

freedom can be a lonely place but maybe that's the price worth paying
caterpillar's may be come butterflies but beetles like us always stay the same.