It is a fertile time to shed my skin,
To emerge raw, like clean, white, new paper,
Bones and muscles unformed,
But I have them, sick and crooked.
I used to think I was hollow, but instead
I carry these diseased old guts.
It is something.
I heard that if I drink of the master's water,
I would never thirst. It was untrue.
Still hollow, still empty, I am a perfect vessel
For a bland echo, so cold, freezing cold,
Yet the echo will not precede an avalanche.
I have to shed my skin to let the nothing out,
The world does not understand hollow.
I marvel how emptiness produces words,
How something comes from nothing,
Against all laws of nature.
But then again...I myself am against all laws of nature.
I exist without anything, fatherless like Grendel.
But I shed my skin without blood,
Except for one drop on the pure white snow.
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Comments about this poem (Chrysalis by Jan Hauck )
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