Semblance
Your crisis of conviction
Of the ages and the aging
Left me a bereft,
stupid, scarred leaf --
Trembling, weathered, soliciting
something of a haven from
Graver monsters still.
That I gave you
So much tarp on which to trample
And the bit of flower I cultivated
Continues to gnaw at me.
The caterpillar now chrysalis
You are morphing into something beautiful
While I a mere rotting, invidious corpse.
Please, I beg you,
fly off that I may collapse
or compose myself
(all compost and rot)
if not into something
good and true
At least into something else.
You don't recognize yourself anymore.
Neither do I:
bearing no resemblance
to a creature once beloved.
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