Wings of Becoming
 
In the stillness of twilight’s glow,
A moth unfurls, her wings aglow,
Untethered by time, shape, or form
She stirs within, a quiet storm.
 
From tender wings, a shift takes place,
A subtle pulse, a change of pace.
The delicate wings begin to fade,
As human breath in her is laid.
 
A flutter of thought, a whispered sigh,
She stretches her limbs, lifts to the sky.
The chrysalis cracks, the past slips away,
And with it, the remnants of yesterday.
 
In the quiet of night, she’s reborn
A creature of dusk, of light, of dawn.
No longer bound by silk or thread,
She soars, where dreams and freedom are led.
 
Her wings, once soft as a shadow’s kiss,
Now carry the weight of newfound bliss.
For in becoming, we are free
To embrace the infinite of what we’re meant to be.
 
Wings of becoming, where beauty is born,
In the space between dusk and the breaking of dawn,
Where nothing is lost, and nothing is new
Only the essence of all that is true.