METAMORPHOSIS


Damp dewdrops rest on my face.
Waiting inside this thick tissue,
this chilly cocoon of cadavers.
I'm changing inside this cache.

The old and forgotten cast shadows.
My body is no more, my mind is changing.
Maturity metamorphosis, my limbs.
Darkness calls the cold comforts of transformation.

I'm about to be born, in this land of promises.
The cocoon releases me from it's warmth,
and I lie all alone on the ground, roots of regrets.
I cannot remember the past, nor the fleeing future.




Poetry by Daybreaker
Read 439 times
Written on 2007-02-01 at 00:28

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nor the fleeing future? Got me there day dreamer. Great re-birth poem though, I could just see it, or shedding a skin maybe a better simile, whatever we do, we have to grow in the end or wither away. Stunted, isn't my cup of tea and don't worry, you have plenty of layers to go....fun is around the corner of spring! Smiling at you, Tai
2007-02-01