A lowly caterpillar
Inching her way to a leaf
She spins her chrysalis
The sun rises and sets many times
But she does not see it
Because she has hidden herself away
In her cocoon
But finally
She begins to emerge
And she is no longer a lowly caterpillar
She has grown wings and can fly away
To a better reality

It’s time
I’ve been activated
Systems coming online
Nerves buzzing
Electric fingernails
Prickle the scalp

This morning
Was the last of its kind
The wheel of change turns
Revealing a strange  new dawn
Nothing will ever
Be The same

I grew up longing to be found
on a deserted place where the stories
told 'I shouldn't have meant to be there', counting the dead until I become them. I was written on old houses as I was left haunted and reminisced on melancholic belonging.

However, it is her rising, the beginning, the becoming.

I am a chest filled with lullabies, it is my reaching to the world to heal my heart, and a calling of the ocean, where my love belongs.

Metamorphosis from the start of the day,
January’s promises,
had so much to say.

The beginning of the cycle,
to the end of the new.
The remnant of the spring morning dew
moves summer breeze
into leaves of a green hue,
and the Heartache of July.

The sun rose and set with You,
until it rained
and the skies once again turned a somber shade of familiar blue.

Metamorphosis of the self,
turning like a snake.
Shedding the skin of heartache and
remaking myself, again.

Metamorphosis I bloom and break,
I wither and wake
through the hardships of the year,
taking a new found shape
of me-

The moon wanes and waxes,
while the heart mends and sax’s
continue to play sweet melodies from the month of May,
and we are reminded of the day
that breaks and dawns.

The body yawns
from the weight of the year.

Yet still, the metamorphosis blooms and births
a new beacon of light,
preparing herself for the thirty-first night
and the turn of the calendar, again.

I am at a crescendo of this mercurially
fervent woe, maimed by the visage of
smoke and mirrors;
"a death in chrysalis is to live once again."

Draping into the worn out disheveled
silk, beautifully withered
lulled by the sound of riverbanks
as if it's pacifying the feral.

A star-lit eyes deluged with bliss
rose with thorn-teared flesh
overwhelmed by a mawkish melancholia. Although we were haunted by our old love, it will never be the same.

I was wrong.
She became the ocean
because she was torn.

Before she fell in love with the storm
She was enamoured by the trees
The nature surrounding her
And its delicate seeds
The lake was who she was
And she hoped that would be her all -

But the storm struck her.

It struck, ******, and stole
What was left of her whole
Her innocence, her soft soul
All ripped and discarded by the swirling ghoul
Needless to say, it left a deep hole
One that would never heal, one no-one could behold

She become the ocean so it was she who would control.
The storms in her palm, the monsters of her own
Monster she became, bold yet cold
The ocean’s depths let no mercy be shown.

But what still remained the same was her soul -
It was the same water, the same heart
The same desire, the same start
The same softness, in a hidden part
She did not want to see another torn apart.

She commanded the storms, an ocean of power
Protected the weak with the comfort she showered
Under her rule, the real monsters cowered.
In the world of the bad, it was she who towered.

Recapitulate in your mind a love story
I'm about to tell,
The two mortals madly in love, went
Up above after a curse,

Joined the other stars, one appears
in the evening and the other vanishes,

Curse was that they'd meet only for
A second after
Long wait of 24 hours,
Love was still intact between them,

Moments loaded with
Emotions still come, tears trickle and fall,

           It is that falling tear we see
           when we see a shooting star ⭐