Chrysalis

In the night, they could pretend. 

Pretend it would never end,
pretend that purgatory had landed,
the material fused with the eternal,
Burning stars screaming in silence.

But when misty spring slithers, its tentacles
Strangling still winter, grown old and soft,
Amber light glints off dewdrops,
Angry violet tears through midnight blue.

The minutes before
Turn the world to ash and mist.
Enveloped in shrouds of trailing steam,
The harbinger emerges.

They know it is time.