Poetry

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Olive drab rubbery wrinkles
Inching along
Hot, belly scorching, gritty sand
Eating half-dead leftovers
From the dusty ground

Eyes occluded with opaque scales
Seeing unclearly
Squishing through
Oozing black slime
The worm barely exists

Thousands of colors
A glistening rainbow
Velvet black, powdery brilliant blue
Frosty white, sunset orange and on
And on

Each uniquely recreated
Free to soar to heights
To dip down
On dew speckled,
Delicate yellow iris petals

And again
From leaf, to stately tree
To crystal sky dressed in purple sunset
Unbound, reborn
A butterfly

Yes, death to SELF
A barely living worm,
To indescribable beauty
As a born again
Uniquely free butterfly

Will you allow Jesus
Into your heart?
To liberate
The butterfly of your soul
In new birth with Him?

Or do you choose
SELFISH SELF.
To remain for eternity
Linked in inseparable league
With THE WORM?

(C) Marijo Phelps all rights reserved. Use with with proper credits.

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