Metamorphosis

Metamorphosis

By C.H.

As a shooting star descends upon the harbor of incense 

The crimson visage of the city’s stained tenements 

Illuminates what was once a bygone era of young adolescence 

Echoes of laughter, a cacophony untainted, welded with bliss 

Gentle hums and soft-spirited murmurs, familiar yet foreign 

Almost imperceptibly, begin to trace soft valleys laced with disdain 

Descending towards a world consumed by raw avarice 

A dishonest array of rigid keyboard clicks and shielded yawns 

The shrill creak of cardboard carts, eyes darting back and forth 

Palms clenched, crystalline tears trickling along coarse crevices 

Of hands etched with blisters, footnotes in a journey left untold 

Alien numbers, bleeding against black and white pulp, 

Heads lowered, resembling beady-eyed insects, callow and languid 

Each attempt, albeit courageous, but futile as it has always been 

And as the last shooting star plummets to the ground, worn with the presence of hurt

Does every soul’s wish be answered, hopes to bask in halos of vespers 

Like the scent of petrichor, forgotten dreams linger and lurk behind the blades 

For the elucidation of life would surely bring, if not, 

the metamorphosis of a human being.