vii. wasting hours at the dead of night
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the celestial moon felt
graphite asteroids
bruised her praised skin
like children not comprehending
the idea of the consequences
borne by their actions
the malignant sky scoffed
as aphrodite's grace was not upon
the celestial bodies of the night
her jealousy,
a myopic force,
that hid true ethereal beauty
the satirical nature
of those considered fact and fiction,
hypocrisy of subjectivity
a hoax of truth
stored as thoughts
that fooled the solipsistic morality
the wind hissed in envy
while trees whistled a tune of dithering
clear particles danced
and clamored
upon the command of currents
and collide with stardust
fate as they called it
is fickle as it is stable
another night ticked by
and i am still the caterpillar
that ate the growing leaf
YOU ARE READING
MY METAMORPHOSIS
Poetrya caterpillar encages itself after its mother left it to grow; silver silk in cotton lies; tulips blossom in solace meadows; the tiny creature rests on a leaf; waiting for wings to grow 《 © disorientedsun | 2022 》
