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"Metamorphosis" by M.C. Escher


Revolution,
welling up from the bedrock,
rumbling under foundations,
tumbles structure to build anew.
It rises in smoke,
in gyres of emotion,
blazing in spirals
that scream skyward
to grasp at gods’ ears
or some divine justice.

So we tear the present
to purge; to bleed a beautiful blood,
unsure what will be gained…
what lost?

And cost?
That we’ll pay in tears.
We’ll pay in joy, in work, in war –
for love.

Metamorphosis moves in me;
moves within this tender body,
within tens of millions of vibrant bodies.
It bursts up and out
like a murmuration of starlings,
each spark-made and wild.
It whips across the night,
feathered with fear, with worried hope,
ripping through what was.
Becoming.


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