The Butterfly Emerges Inspite of All

 

An old gray aluminum  table
A record player bought with my own money;
An album holder, lining up my treasures

A 1950's finished basement where it all sat;
A refugee, a sanctuary, a private haven
where I listened to their voices, their words,
over and over and over again.

Innocent lyrics at first; holding their hands
was easy and safe; and I was a s innocent as those
first songs.

But growth cannot be stopped--their music reflected their
genius, their truths, their  troubles, their souls-----and as
they struggled with the pangs of evolution; I let myself evolve
with them.

John's voice was husky, sensual, weaving his magic,
weaving his pain; weaving his joy;
making me feel "depth" and "real" for the very
first time.