Metamorphosis Poems

It will be painful, generational. Hard to keep up. The old will resist fight the loss of their world. Change will be blinding, the fabric of civilization fraying turning to dust. Everything known will be obliterated. Humanity loses its identity.

One time in my youth my color was green with vim in my veins I swam with the stream I went through a change that the chrysalis take went to sleep as a raindrop awoke as a lake. Now music

It’s a fluttering dove, No…mayhap a trembling rabbit, Why does it sound so loud? The shaking, the trembling Now the throbbing, the thudding In my ears, a stampede, The gasp that awakens, confirming It’s the beat of my heart, Out

In this blood-watered land forms flow fluid as serpent becomes lizard, lizard becomes turtle, turtle become cicada, cicada becomes sea urchin, becomes sacred owl with onyx eyes In this soul-fed land fugitive figures fuse into each other, my breath becomes

Neath the boughs and eaves; a soul all withered, weathered; grieves. For a love once unfurled Of promises made; and hope assumed and vows murled…. Scattered and battered in the undergrowth lies a heart that has found no rhythm no

I feel eternal and immortal as I don’t realise it is my breath which is keeping me alive I am not bothered to know every breath that I am taking is leading me into my grave Upon Good I feel

Overturned, years of stasis Paralysis by mental blockade A political metamorphosis. Afoot at the general election; Vengeance of the Manifesto. The interregnum, the entrenched vote Tranches appear, on Revised Register Deceased coded, in numbers resurrect. Beyond the grave, claim their

I travel between two worlds World of imagination, another of daily settings. I work, I talk, I sleep and eat And do all things, all for common blessings. My essential hours guide me To assume my conscious self Amid the

He awakens To a wicked world Of His own design Where the Damned Live amongst The Divine Their perfect little lives An illusion Fueled by vanity As He searches The darkness for light And His sanity Rythm of the heart

the hunt begins after sunset under cracked moon, blindfolded clouds start visiting volitionlessly: the nesting eagles, I choose this bitter absurdity of large wings under the sun, where they will announce the shade, a lonely patch of life, of signature

the end of a thought is never for its death, but for a new beginning; there is always a meaningful silence, a metamorphosis, I do ever find, between a stop and its succeeding word like that of death into birth

Wrigglers dripped again from hidden heights. The red river changed its course furiously. The wave climbers abseiled from a lethal boat to wipe out the beach memory. Timeline sneaked to put the blood signature of a cult on the glass

Difficult it becomes, the secret of the judgement and metamorphosis of the painted cotton into a stained truth. To save the present tense. A dangerous crowd of vowels to express the incomplete moment of watery teeth, so hung, while misspeaking

Are angelic neurons fleshing inside a trans-Inquisition tavern? Another kind of speaking, pontificating globe? Can we feel the burning and sexing of the four seasons with the four elements, recycling earth, water, air, fire, to produce the quintessence of your

You got a part I got my broken heart Live and let them walk Build a bridge and break that wall Look up at the sky, without any pillar it never falls Wake up and stand tall This world is

I was crawling deep down the wood, Flowers of love blossomed on head, Red, yellow, blue, green leaves smile, Waiting to greet the lovely dawn for a while Looking at the bounty of burning sun Warming in his strong arms

I searched for tranquility in more ways than one, but yet it is still hard to reach. My soul wonders from place to place without fear or stability. Once I thought I found a home near by the countryside with

It oftentimes comes to pass Amid the thorns and briars of our earthly being That we do fail to comprehend the genuine meaning Of the celestial signs of a mass, Or of the words engraved upon the plates of brass…

Life – as a whole, A noble gift of God ! Human of-course, is The noblest of all !! Man alone a Prototype of God : All “ in action and Vision”, so..…, as well ?! Those who worship a

Oooh FUNKY MONKEY on a John Deer tractor in a pair of blue overalls everybody that gets a load of you just has to have their picture taken with you Now you’re a movie star with agents on speed dial

What I am doing this time? I write something that ends with rhyme. When I’m alone, I get my guitar or a book Trying to read a poem and composing song with chords. Oh well this time I feel awesome

I saw tombstones Some ornate , others plain. All had a story hidden Of fulfilment and emptiness. Death is a leveller And makes us realise All are equal Even if born amidst riches. The journey from cradle to grave Is

How dark and deep The wrinkles on your visage? O,Stranger? and how fresh? Gentle the strokes of Master Painter! Come ,under those very shades Let us chat in friendly togetherness. Every Memory is a fragrance, Fills voids,Stirs emotions and Swings

You have been at my side since birth Quiet observant relative You were in the ceiling panels of the hospital when my last rites were read at 11 Keeping me company through the pain You were at the surface when

I see no change In age.. For some years that were before, Childhood days were happy, Young age was to make merry. There was the sky and heaven, I was roaming as Romeo even. Then came established life; there was

When I will leave this world, Leave many questions in your heart, Ever lasting tears in your eyes, Broken dreams in your hands, Sorrowful memories in your loneliness, Long wait in your days and silent legend in your nights, In

Walking down the street for a lively walk Saw a pair of eyes which wanted to talk The teary eyes and the gloomy face Asking help for heaven’s sake..! No!It’s not just water from the eyes. It’s a pearl that

When I’m thinking of you, muse returns and I am able to write few verses again your words always an inspiration thinking of you often, missing your writes there are some days that rhymes not there then I am waiting

I observe the falcon His piercing stare keeping watch upon the land Patiently waiting for his peasant prey to begin their greedful harvest I observe the falcon Leaping from his perch, careening through the skies He is lightning, cutting through

Majestic is the setting Sun, Lighting the entire horizon, Crimson rays so cosily warm, Dazzling with a strange charm. Its flames are leaping high, Engulfing earth and the sky, All ablaze with red fire, Like a bedecked pyre. The dying

Heart of the earth- heart of the star, fire raging through me can I handle one more moment of this awesome ecstasy? energy flowing up in me- lightning pulsing down on me singing eternal memories… melodies arcing up- cascading down-

it bleeds in thin sunset strands filters through within sunlight congealing in layers every day a fat ripeness that makes old folks sob for the urges their bodies no longer answer the pig died like prejudice you can learn about

Thoughts come racing through my mind. I am trying to grow, but I need to unwind. Encouraging myself to do what I must, But when it comes to facing it, I feel like dust. Dry in ideas, and blowing without

I am precious to both kingdoms, both dark and light. I carry power and potential to grow both kingdoms, so both sides are fighting for me. The one king offers: Temporary satisfaction and happiness, but neglects me when I am

A lost soul on stolen time wonders like a landscape drifter For I am that which stands before you, a bottom feeder and shapeshifter Wizards watch wrath without wondering why Wither away like roses in winter whispering a thundering cry

Will every way be barred to the expression that comes to mind short of perception? The truth will be found in the time when one day separated by days becomes days separated by never. The brief and testaments completed; enter

I am rage mixed with fire. I will arrive in a fury and leave destruction in my wake. I am hurt and abandonment. I will bruise, black and blue, and will pick myself back up. I am skinned knees and

Never free of my thoughts in mind just of my free will of being true being true to myself rather than to you never free of being my own but rather the me you wish to see not the person

At ethnic moment on the moonfront, artless impressionists of parallel conflicts with anxious looks come to share the self realized truth of mangled uncertainties, watching your own dead body: small chicks huddle together for contemporary thoughts of violence-to kill or

The scenes of human sufferings Are more apparent in the world Than all the boastful shows Of power,riches and pelf . We see a few rolling in wealth, While millions in penury and want suffer The rich inventing new ways

Each morning she grants me the unique privilege of providing a smile on her face I know quite a bit about the simple things. To watch her walk in and delight herself with the croissant of open lips A splash

I was a bit older than you, you were a bit younger than me, We were so-called neighbors. You’re a different kind of girl, who’s shy and little, suddenly, friendship fell. We were so close, like brothers and sisters, who

I forget she had her own story Before mine had even begun But when she became my Mother Our stories merged into one She had hopes and dreams of her own Down which path in life she’d been led But