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Tatiana Dec 2018
Two monarchs cross paths
dancing around eachother.
With words so airy,
one should know to be wary
of what will be said next.

"How does your son fair?"
"Fairs as well as yours I presume."
"Yours always had a knack for flair."
"Yours always could wow a room."

Disguised insults spoken.
Each compliment flapped away with wings
that carry the monarch to their next test.
Where they'll see which flowers they like best.
To gather in support of their queens.

"You know what would be tragic?"
"Why do you continue to speak?"
"If a son were to fall to magic,
before his heart could take a beat."

The two monarchs parted ways.
Promises rolling off their tongues
as sweet as the nectar they drank.
But were designed to attack the other's rank.
Their success depends on the other's defeat.

Conversation stalls as the monarchs fly home.
On wings decorated so finely.
Each of their thoughts seem to turn towards their sons
Just caterpillars before their transformations.
Weaving their chrysalis with determination.

Though they're far apart
the monarchs speak the same words

"I fear for you, my son, in this great world,
Our reign can never last for long.
But I wish for you to have your chance
To encapture the world in a trance
With a grace bestowed upon your wings
I wish for you to make others sing.
For I've seen the tragedy of the other king
Just before transformation
I saw a caterpillar die in its chrysalis."

"I saw a caterpillar die in its chrysalis,"

"I saw a caterpillar die..."

"My son, that has made all the difference."
© Tatiana
TheMystiqueTrail Sep 2018
Like caterpillars that rise
to the bliss of the blue skies
from the chrysalis of mortality
on the wings of the fairy butterflies,
we leave the shackles of your body
to embrace its kindred souls of dust, and
migrate to eternity’s solemn splendour.

Are we afraid?
are we afraid to explore the skies of eternity ?
Brandon Conway Aug 2018
I watched as your webbed nest grew
In the branch of the front yard tree
A plague of squirming brood
Not that a web of a spidering

Yours was much too thick
As I braved a finger, fear quelled
Skipped on using a stick
Strong and sturdy she held

“Are these caterpillars?”
You asked, I replied
“I think they are.”

You asked for the destruction of civilization
“You need to cut these down.”

“I can’t, I been watching them grow,
Watching this web slowly take over.
Now I see on every tree
When I’m out driving
Their villages
Where they live
Feeding off the leaves
If these are so common
Why are butterflies so rare?”

You responded with no care
“They are ****, I don’t like them.”
  
I watched the rest of that tree
Be consumed
I hope that plague
Becomes beautiful soon
Vale Luna May 2018
When I see you
I get caterpillars in my stomach
Not grown enough to be butterflies
But alive enough
    To make me feel sick

The constant crawling
A thousand tiny legs
Scurrying up my esophagus
Ready to throw up
A feeling too real to ignore
And too nauseating to admit

So when I see you again
I’ll just keep my mouth shut
Live with the taste of dirt on my tongue
And swallow the caterpillars
   That live in my stomach.
Madelin Dec 2015
We plucked eyebrows
from the clover.
Caterpillars
contracting as
we pinched each one
between our plump
baby fingers,
expanding as
we lined them on
each other’s arms—
wooly train cars.
They would ripple
blindly, segment
by segment, scoot
across the floor
of the rusty
coffee can we’d
prepared for them
so carefully—
braided hairs of
grasses, flowers,
twigs, stones and all—
a crude and cruel
imitation
of their clover,
but certainly
better, somehow.

We were sure.
Phil Lindsey Aug 2015
The beginning of a story
Read with me, if you desire
At dawn a huge explosion
Filled the void with fire,
Cooled and hardened into rock,
Orbits now another star,
A life sustaining prison
Caterpillars in a jar.

A thousand, thousand, thousand years,
Then a thousand, thousand more
Passed as though an eye blink
Before a creature crawled to shore.
What miracle was engineered?
Creating ocean from a fire,
Creating algae in the ocean,
And life from muck and mire?

Was the engineer benevolent?
With a careful laid out plan?
Or is the earth a failed experiment
Where the byproduct is Man?
And if Man was unintended
What results were meant to be?
Would earth have been a better place
With just oceans, land and trees?

Maybe chemical reactions,
On this random, rolling stone
Were responsible for all its life
Chemicals alone.
Astronomic odds against it,
But the odds of Heaven are high as well.
I cannot comprehend it.
That story someone else must tell.
Phil Lindsey June, 2015
I intended this to be much longer.  Maybe it will be someday.  :-)
cyanide skies Jun 2015
I tried to talk to caterpillars once
and when they didn’t talk back I thought
there was something wrong with me
but when they finally replied I
knew
there was something wrong with me
and maybe I tried to fix it
or maybe I didn’t
either way,
the fuzzy caterpillar voices
never stopped
and I tried my hardest
to avoid the tomato plants
skirting around them
in the garden of my thoughts
but there’s poison ivy around the edges
and I’m sick of the rashes
of losing it all to a half-bloomed rose
to the promise of growth
and the reality of a frozen season
of leaves being eaten
by the caterpillars
when I could’ve told them to stop.
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