Would he ever really let his secret out? (PART 2)

But how if his exemplary life was

empow’red like he had said, by love for God,

& then love for his walking images;

so love and goodness grow where he had trod.

And what if we were drawn to him like moths?

And what if that was not the end of things? -

if moths turned into butterflies, (or cloths),

when they were burnt in candles, lost their wings,

What if when the moth lost all it’s flight-pow’r,

the little grublet left could then entomb

a second time, & just at the right hour

come out then as a butterfly from womb.

Or what if when a moth was burnt in flame

their wings would flutter (automatic’ly)

together and, with others just the same,

make up a cloth, or chamoix, just for free.

Imagine further that the moths who came

to swarm around the candle or the lamp,

we're trying to beat others to the flame

and vying for the honour to be stamped

out of moth-existence, into more-FULL

(a butterfly - more beautiFUL than it,

or even cloth, to humans more useFUL).

You get the picture… maybe just a bit?

I think this little fable is somewhat

like what he knew must happen for us all

to get more beautiful, useful, what-not…

we need a chris-cross (death). That is his call!