Chrysalis Poem by Donatien Moisdon

On the moors where shiver the white manes of the dead
slowly proceeds a frail and dishevelled old man.

Having walked to the shore where his childhood awoke
he gazes at a sea struck by the midday sun.

Song of a salty wind humming around his face,
storm made invisible by a crude and blue sky,
voice enormous and wild in which he drowns his mind...

Liberated from the prostitution of work,
dawn of nobility after a crazy night,
here he stands against the powers of Nature.

Here he stands, forever free of fellow men.

As out of a larva ending its pilgrimage,
at the approach of death, a soul, at last, unfolds.