Chrysalis

I have been thinking much lately about the cycles of life. I always love the spring and summers seasons of my soul when things are growing, blooming, flourishing in my life. I react in fear at the other, equally necessary, seasons in life, times of pain and disappointment when autumn comes and the days grow chilly and what was once green and alive in my soul begins to droop and die or gets frozen overnight. The following poem is a result of my musing on this topic. I doubt it will make much sense unless you can take a minute to sip it slowly like a hot drink on a chilly morning.

When the caterpillar is fully grown, it makes a button of silk which it uses to fasten its body to a leaf or twig. Then the caterpillar's skin comes off for the final time. Under this old skin is a hard skin called a Chrysalis aka "Nympha" like other types of pupae, the chrysalis stage in most butterflies is one in which there is little movement...Within the chrysalis, growth and differentiation occur. (from Wikipedia "Chrysalis")

I

Embracing rush
incoming tide,
each swell higher than its brother
erases scars in sand.

The waxing joy-filled moon
pregnant with possibility
incubating light
round with hope

Spring Equinox
buds heavy
perfumed with life.

Always, then.
the Unseen waves a wand
waxing becomes waning
Moon flees.
waves retreat,
beach lies bruised,
stripped and naked

Nothing lives
unless it dies.

II

A larva,
weary of crawling
weary of nice-ness
weary of her own soft skin

She clings to the twig, 
scratches
writhes
confused
An insect
imprisoned in spider's silk?

Poisoned,
paralyzed,
waiting to be devoured?

Her hard dead shell,
exposed,
upside down
hanging tentative,
still.

But

Resurrection only gestates
in the tomb

silent differentiation hidden. 

Until a new born Nymph,
emerges
in wonder
stretching,
drying newborn wings.