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.

There between discontent and enchantment
Sits the self, seeking awe and amazement,
In response to perceived monotony
From the loss of its own autonomy.

There between morning’s hopeful open eyes
Sits the self, no different from last sunrise,
Welcoming heavy eyelids of midnight
To close one more day that seemed not quite right.

There between poems and the literal
Sits the self, with insight ephemeral,
Waging war with the real and imagined
Encounters with thoughts so undisciplined.

There between what is and what can become
Sits the self, embodied delirium,
Each unique but with no definition,
An unresolved eternal condition.