COSMIC CHRYSALIS

The sun came out to play again
Wreaking havoc for my pen
And though I prayed for obsidian rain
It shined so brightly on my pain

And so I did what I do best
Crossed my fingers, then confessed
Running for those sacred shadows
Finding solace in grand excess

Turning pages much like soil
Planting seeds of seething trust
Watching as my efforts spoil
When I speak or write too much

Yes, words become a bane
More an omnipresent stain
Malignant byproduct of my vanity
Masking shades of his insanity

Black clothes and dark glasses
Lonely masquerade of sorts
You see me as a love-starved artist
Actually, a spite-filled narcissist

Pontificating poetry
A form of word disguise
Lying in a bed of lies
Worshiping what I despise

Surrounded by my daily posts
Wrapped in feely likes and hearts
A warm cocoon of starstruck mischief
Safe inside my cosmic chrysalis

But sadly, there’s no transformation
Change remains as much the same
Suffocated by his ego
Chasing fame, can never let go

Buried in absentia
From his body, mind, and soul
Headstone with a chiseled poem
“He lived a lie and died alone.”

TM DiSarro

TM DiSarro