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.