I spill over, flowing, changing, always becoming, never truly being

Being, then, becomes anotherness, as I explore constant change
It is tiring, a sure way to die fast, like the morphing butterfly
And when I die, I start over, renewed, creative
But I again try to contain my excesses, like binding air or bottling the sea
I fail, and that surprises me. Why am I? I ask in shock and shame
After a while, I remember that there is only the future to remember
The past is woven into my newness, no need therefore to hanker after it
I smile, the Angel tells me to smile. 'You always were!' He says

'You are a river, always flowing with the new,
Sometimes you will fade, drying up
Often, you will thrive, but never in the same way
As you gather the waters of life's experiences
You remain always you, as you become another.'

I sigh, wearily. My Angel gives me no answers, just more questions.

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