Metamorphosis of the Soul

She believed that the end enveloped her in shadows,
when her skin broke in her chrysalis.
The echo of fear brushed her body,
but light awaited in her womb.

Caterpillar of time, latent memory,
she felt the dance of change in her spiral.
Each tear was a golden thread,
weaving wings in her slumber.

And when the night wanted to silence her,
when the weight of the world bent her,
she unfolded her soul, broke the shell,
and the sky in her chest embraced her.

It was not the end,
it was rebirth.
What the caterpillar sees as death,
the rest of the world calls a butterfly.