The Poets Page

Becoming Her

You are my rhythm,
You chase away my blues,
You’re a church hymn,
You are my muse.

You are a caterpillar,
Making her cocoon,
Hiding under a star,
Awaiting the arrival of the moon.

As the moon sets,
And the sun rises,
It signals your rebirth,
As you shed your disguises.

You emerge from your cocoon,
You have completed your rest,
You are now a butterfly,
Venturing on your final quest.

In your quest to find love,
You search high and low,
And all you can think of,
Is all that you know.

As you spread your wings,
And open up your heart,
Listen as your voice sings,
Till death due us part.

Peace, Brett Boismier