Forge

A Poem By

Phoenix B Meadows

 

Forge

Change is never bad,
I know I’ve had someone say that to me.

Change isn’t bad, it’s all about what you do with it.

I’d like to tell you change isn’t bad,
Maybe it isn’t,
But changing…

Changing sucks like nothing else.

I like to think turning into a butterfly hurts,
Because maybe that means you’re becoming a butterfly.
Or maybe an angel from a human,
Wrapped up in a chrysalis of things that break normal people,
Changing.

Maybe you’ll come out an angel,
Even though I know you already are one,
And I don’t even believe in angels.

I hope you come out with beautiful wings,
And a smile.
A smile that could stretch a mile or blind with its strength and relief,
That the change is finally over.

I like to imagine that caterpillars have panic attacks before their wings bud,
Because it isn’t something they know how to deal with.
I like to imagine, none of the butterflies can tell them,
So they can’t prepare any more than you.

But maybe you’re forging.

Maybe you’re becoming a blade,
An avenger,
Ready to fight down the evil that laps at you.

Forging must hurt,
And the heat must make the blade anxious from before the first hammer fall to the last.

So maybe you’re a blade,
Still half forged and heating in a bed of angry coals.

Maybe you’re a blade, with a sweeping curve and a wicked looking tip,
Meant to rend terror from the world like cutting crop heads free of their stalks.

Maybe you’re an assassin’s blade,
Ready to fight back at all the wrong, and sneak through the blackest of nights and down it,
Made from something tougher than steel, that glows when light its it like a jewel.

Maybe.

Maybe you’re something new.
Something better than everything,
Something that takes forging in a chrysalis of fire and ice
And pain,
To make.

Maybe the world isn’t cruel,
It’s just changing you,
And whatever comes out, however long it takes,
I know it will be strong.

So forge,
And know that someday,
You’ll be better than a butterfly.

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