Metamorphosis:
a molting of silky wraps that
cover sticky weakness.

Numerate and remember a scene
where a change – one significant
and drastic was declared.

Perspiring with hands firmly pressed
to that of a desktop.
A faint light mutes the darkness of the room.

A life test before you. Answers:
‘A’ and ‘B.’
One goes forward; the other is static.

At our damndest, we crucify
our lives to a single pursuit.
Fey portrays such finality.

Rocked by day dreams and possibilities,
the prospect is speculative.
Timidly you plot:

Where does it go,
how far will it take me,
and is such a reasonable option?

The answer is no.
Change is never nice nor
accommodating…

it simply, must, happen.