When the last scale
of the living cacoon
sluffs away
and the wings
of maturity
are absent...
Were you ever
prepared for existence
among the myriad
of beautiful creatures?
It will strike you
one day;
It will pierced you
like a blood-soaked
quill of criticism.
Will you call it art
as the ink travels
across your flesh
like the weeping
of the old earth?
Or will it scar you
beneath your breast plate
as you stand fast
on the battlefield?
Do you believe one lifetime will change you?
No... you're headstrong
and lust for fleeting shadows...
where you can be a somber angel,
floating on dark delights,
with primal entities
that search for love or destruction.