i have nothing
left to lift
not my hands
not my eyes
nor raise my ire
peace is all
overwhelming
turgidity
slowness that is stillness
unmoving like summer rain
or heavy syrup
heavy as the earth
beneath my feet
i shed my skin
one last time
with no intent
of emerging clad
in a new glistening
sheath
Words and Feathers 
Peace equated with stultification. Long live bickering and discontent!
There is something to be said for stasis, or for final revelations, for a goal to anchor to. I love this poem.
Thanks!
Quit is good.
Cool! I love the thought of you slithering from your cocoon in all your monstrosity. I bet you’d have spikes on your back and half a dozen eyes. Yeah, baby! 🙂
That sounds about right. I’d want some extra… limbs too.
Octocrow! Watch out for his big tentacles. 😀