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Metamorphosis
Metamorphosis
By: Joel Faypon
The dust of your shattered past never settles.
They circle around in your consciousness
and satisfy your desire for pain then scatters.
Clouding everything – like the waking call of change,
but you cut the pointing finger of it when it
leads you to rearrange.
You left yourself no pity, just an eternal sleep,
without dreams, without mercy.
Just memories stabbing your mind,
yet still numb in a coma.
Refusing to let go of the subliminal dictates
of the trauma
You never believed in changes like that undergone
by butterflies.
Insisting that metamorphosis is a mere rebirth
of yet another lie.
But then you are the offspring of the tears they cried.
You are the new child born after the old child dies.
