A tribute to our yet to be read (unread) stories

We begin as tiny seeds in your creative minds

Wrapping ourselves into gentle cocoons of thoughts

Writhing and squirming our way outwards

From your potently phrased and framed mind's eye

We germinate and blossom into the eloquence

Of beautiful butterflies gently undulating

From your expressive and graphic fingertips

Patiently and sweetly thriving and striving into

Becoming

Children of our aspiring eagerly awaiting literary parents

We may not have tragic stories to tell

Or be the best written of the lot

We may be little love stories or whimsical wonders

Or deep dark desires of the obsessive kind

Be the secrets that we should not tell but hesitantly journal

We may not be deep enough or fashionable enough

Elegant enough, besuited, spruced, dapper and

Debonair, shiny or gleaming enough

To be the chosen butterflies to flutter aloft

We may not be the great wonders crafted by the select few

We may not rate high atop the venerated list

Of our judges, juries and decision architects

Who pull the strings and control our fate and our lot

We are indeed numbered in the thousands

While they yet are only a numbered few

Who toil, peruse, cipher and endure our whispers

Murmurs, shouts, grumbles, mithers and objections

Of trials and troubles whether or not weathered

By the lost souls pleading to be found

Within the words, they read, mull and perceive

A gasping, though blurred, vague, obscure and faint

Reaching out and a cry for help

We may not possess the magic to make you care

We may not dazzle, puzzle or interest you

Or make you stop to read our innate intended message

Even though so craved in our wholehearted affection

Wishing to be the center of all attention

Sometimes we feel that we are funny and captivating

But what can we do if you do not smile

If our charm does not appeal to you

We take comfort in the loving knowledge

That we are the flowers and exquisite blooms

That cocooned, slithered and blossomed

From our doting parent's minds and thoughts

Forever to be cuddled and cherished

Clasped gently to their breasts, fully knowing

That we are loved.

Wrapped within purity and truth.

N.A.