CHRYSALID

…

The open wound healed and the taut, pale skin grew faintly over

Foreign fingers still felt for that awkward pain like a summer lover

Quiet amateurs, just sad explorers who never quite reach above

Likened to madmen who endanger love as they push, they shove

We set about this long road a long while ago and the blue horizon

Saphire and urban it lies like a burning snake upon the sand golden

Where I am going is the choice of pilgrims and you might not come

Where I have been it is cloudy, it is overgrown, now lost in the sun

Darkness growing, an army lost from sight and the faint colour of snow,

To temper it’s soul we reached out to touch it and in the darkness, it glowed

Hands blackened from course, silent, prayers break the granite of shame

Chisel-men, peace-men step from their caves, the least should bow to blame

The strength of the oxe and the plough, the sweat of a nations golden thigh

There marched fourteen thousand, yoked to broadsword to live or to die

Rivers fall, the longest path tumbling, like frothing beasts in metal chains

Where the almanac says parties will vie for certain clouded peace in vain

So many stories should be written, so many angered tales of far too few

Black earth & soldiers bloodied ordure, la couche de Mouron-des-Oiseaux

And the midnight call to prayer, attended by Monsignor and His Wives

That silent abattoir where only things unholy are unspoken, only evil dies

…

writtenbyedenbray20.04.2018 

…

According to M. de Reaumur,

‘the life of chrysalids may be prolonged by keeping them in a cold situation, such as an ice-house’.

la couche Mouron-des-Oiseaux – the blanket of wild chickweed