The rain throws itself against the night
thunder rolls its ancient drums
and I feel it in my bones
as the deluge settles it feels gentle, like sorrow
tonight, the darkness is my cocoon
and my room becomes the chrysalis
chrysalism is a sacred pause
before I must be brave again
deep inside me, something flutters
and I think of butterflies
how they emerge as themselves
but also as something entirely new
they surrender to the hard work of becoming
to the peace that arrives on soft wings
and if tomorrow, I am still not free
then I will sit by my window again
and let the rain remind me
that even storms must pass
even sorrow has a season
and even the most wounded heart
can eventually heal itself
©Ann Bagnall
Annie's Poetry 