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Crawling. I've been crawling. Down in the dirt on my abdomen. Searching for a tree to cling to. To hang from upside down. To take a step into the chrysalis. To be born a new.
This skin I wear, encases me. When I've moulted I will be free. I will escape the confounds of bone and flesh. Of time and space. Of birth and death.
When I pass. When I pass through this knot. The knot in the infinite line of things. I will pass through biology, enter into a state beyond. Beyond our senses. Beyond our limitations. With nothing to gravitate towards.
The butterfly, it calls to me. My day is coming, it will be free.
It's been inside of me. Been here all along. Waiting to come out.
I am not the skin I wear. I am not the title I bear. I am, I am!
We're all larva. We all got butterflies inside of us. Come and crawl with me. Get down on your abdomen. We're gonna find a tree. To hang from, and set the butterfly free.
H E L E N A Dec 2018
Another sigh fogged up its glass walls.
It had grown tired of these vain dolls.
Unknown to the outside world,
Deeper into its dreams the Chrysalis curled.
The day its shell began to crack
Was the prelude to a massive train wreck.
The cars collided one by one:
Love. Hope. And everything fun.
All that was left, a metallic heap,
And into the ground, blood began to seep.
Alas, it realised something was amiss:
The blatant need for metamorphosis.
Willing itself to transform,
It never did want to conform.
When conformity limits quality.
TheMystiqueTrail Sep 2018
Like caterpillars that rise
to the bliss of the blue skies
from the chrysalis of mortality
on the wings of the fairy butterflies,
we leave the shackles of your body
to embrace its kindred souls of dust, and
migrate to eternity’s solemn splendour.

Are we afraid?
are we afraid to explore the skies of eternity ?
Lyn-Purcell Jul 2018
To my good friend, Sue
Stay safe in your chrysalis
I'll be here waiting

Keep your mind on you
I'll stay true to the promise
to write for us both

You are not alone
You are a kind and sweet soul
So regenerate

In your chrysalis
I will await in its glow
and for it to crack

The winds will sing sweet
And the Northern Lights will dance
And you will emerge

Shining, born again
With strong, bright, velveteen wings
With love as armour

With all your wounds healed
And all your scars now faded
And we see you smile

I know you'll come through
People may have struck you down
But you weren't destroyed

To my good friend, Sue
My hand's on your chrysalis
Just know I am here
Again, this is for Sue.
Whatever she is going through I know she will come through.
Sue, if you're seeing this, know you can take as long as you like to heal
in your chrysalis.
Me and other people here on HP will continue to support you.
Always <3
Sending hugs your way!
Your good friend,
Lyn ***
AM Apr 2016
thump, thump
his heart knocked my cheek
and softly, I heard it speaks
about one's love in chrysalis
waiting in time to be released
Help me to know
that this hunger
is not personal.

This form that
holds my soul
is more delicate
these days,
but the mind
is also clearer.

Help me to be
patient, help
me to trust
what comes.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Anna Jones Jun 2015
Tea taming the light
Misty magic
Crawls up the spine
Birds through the looking glass

She opened the book
Absorbing every page
Each chapter a gateway
Musing on those she knew;
Represented by numbers
Individual, yet all the same

Your days are a never ending struggle
Rare in and of themselves
Bringing trouble;
Dog eared rationale

We seekers of solace
Take refuge in books
The next installment;
Flooding our lives
with fantasies
In our chrysalis

Reading brings change
And knowledge
From page to page
We analyse
Plot, scene, age
Apply the theatre to our lives
And sit, thinking for a while

Read between the lines
Crime, thriller, romance

That could be our lives
Yet sky so grey
We sit, dreaming...

Some day.
I wrote this poem in the Halton Poetry Group in May 2015. We were given the task of writing poems based on a selection of phrases. This is what I came up with in about 20 minutes.
Graff1980 Nov 2014
I hated him, that slimy, stupid, putrid drunk. His ***** brown hair was crusted with the stink of old hairspray. Half-closed eyes ran red. His body flabby, with frequent bouts of flatulence. I watched him drink himself dumb, slobbering in his stupidity, succoring on his self-entitled rage. Anger and depression made him into a slurring mongrel. Contempt turned him into a raving lunatic. Many nights he held court with the mirror, glaring fiercely as if his reflection was an opponent to be destroyed.

That said, He did have some good qualities. Little lights that glowed in certain special moments. I saw them more times than I could count. Many times he would give his last dollar to a stranger in need.  There were quite a few times he picked up strangers and gave them a ride. When winter came he would shovel the driveways and sidewalks of the elderly for free.

Still, this list was not enough to satiate my rage. Perhaps part of my disdain came from the ill words of others. Meanness wearing the guise of kind criticism stirred my fury further. The resentment I bore him was too great. Thus, after another night of his drunken behavior, after another bout of self-indulgent whining and threats of suicide. I slit his throat.

Blood bubbled from his neck as he struggled to remain standing. Red liquid rained down enveloping his throat then partially covering his chest. Then a thin string of red lights exploded from the wound. Each line jerking the neck in a different direction as it sought its connection. The thud of these lines hitting the walls and sticking solidly echoed in the living room.

He screamed with a rage. The kind that I had never heard before. The bubbling blood choked him into silence as it began to thicken.  More crimson liquid oozed out and down the writhing figure. He was struggling so hard, which I found so amusing. Flakes of coagulated blood chipped off and settled on the puke colored carpet. The sharp strands of red vibrated and tightened as if they were trying to cease his agitated struggles.

After an hour of this strange horror show the blood stopped flowing, he stopped moving, and all that seemed to be left was a massive black, brown, and dark red cocoon. In the distance music played, songs of love, community, and social justice reverberated through the dingy house.

After several days the cocoon started to shiver and glow. Flecks of the clotted blood crumbled and fell to the floor, this time at an alarming rate. After another day the cocoon cracked and began disintegrating even faster.

It took another three or four hours till a figure emerged. Then he was back. The object of my disgust returned. However, he had changed. His eyes were no long weary or drunk red. His hair was smooth and silky, though still brown, it lacked that old stinky quality. His body had shrunk and hardened. I think I saw a small cotton tail, But the most striking change was the calmness.

When he spoke, poetry flowed from his lips. His new demeanor sang more of compassion then anger. Something had changed. Something was new. Old bitterness had almost completely faded. The anguish had been replaced with a hopeful grin.

As I stared into the mirror I knew I would never see that dark fool again. There was no more self-loathing only honest introspection.
Gigi Tiji Feb 2014
do you reminisce,
as you spread your wings?
of a quiescent chrysalis,
that sits and swings?
or is it all bliss
your freedom brings?

beautiful butterfly,
when did you know?
did y'know why?
or did you just let it flow?
was it a solemn goodbye?
or a happy hello?
cynosure Aug 2014
Your words crawled through my auditory cortex like caterpillars, preventing me from hearing anything other than the inflection in your deep voice. As your body inched closer to mine, they took residence in my chest cavity, building chrysali that hung off of my ribs making it more and more difficult to inflate my heavy lungs. They cocooned themselves as I too wrapped myself up in you. Suddenly, your lips were on mine and your hands were counting the vertebrae down my back, scaring the insects from their resting place, resulting in chills up my spine. The newly emerged butterflies flew out of my sternum and up into my throat, longing to be closer to you. But then you pulled away and they instantly died, leaving me with a bitter taste in my mouth.
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