She got lost during her planned transformation,
Merged her lifeless wings with the other fallen.
Connecting out of necessity,
To a collectiveness of the forgotten.
Dissolved into a new work of art,
An accent looked upon with condolement.
Still beautiful, but glued down,
By complacencies strong cement.
Patterns eventually blur; colors fade over time.
What will you experience in the wait?
What if your expected transformation was an illusion?
Was this, maybe, always your fate?