The process of becoming other than, 

 the shedding of the old by way of time, 

 the hands upon the clock traverse their span, 

 the ever-fleeting moment reigns, sublime. 

The emptiness of all objective forms, 

 the rushing river never stepped in twice, 

 the reconfiguration of all norms, 

 the virtues of lost ages seen as vice, 

The elements converge and then react, 

 the caterpillars weave themselves cocoons, 

 the world amends its stock of gathered facts, 

 the moths emerge, to greet the moon, 

 The firmament, destroyed, rearranged,

God’s universal essence, found in change. 

metallic metamorphosis 

if i were made out of iron, 

you are my flame– 

melted my barriers and, 

molded me 

into who i am 

today.