Elise Shaw

I was oxygen and rain
in a world made of iron.

Being surrounded by the element,
I had to find ways to blend in.
I welded myself into all kinds
of intricate metallic facades.

I liquefied just to fit into their moulds,
polishing myself
until I was a perfect, shiny ingot.

But I was no alchemist,
and with enough exposure to me,
rust and corrosion were inevitable.

I should stop,
back away,
and resign myself
to the skies where I belong.

Precipitation just is,
like how entropy always increases
or planets orbit the sun.

I’m no match for such forces.
I’ll just keep falling and ascending,
falling and ascending,
and falling.

So, with a deflating breath,
taking one last look
at the tarnished collateral
left in my wake,

I evaporate,
rolling out like thunderclouds
to start the cycle again.