Chrysalis

Tell me, without these violins,

What the music of love sounds like?

Tell me, beast, in shadowed black,

Describe the light outside?

Like butterflies, we once were soup,

A mix of all the pain.

Hard to swallow, sour to taste,

Hard to separate.

From within that cauldron chrysalis,

The strong shall be reborn.

Euthymic days and savoured dew,

Rhythmic flight and lore.

Our legends start is not the part,

Of wriggling on the leaf,

Instead, we begin, wings aroused,

As violins sound beneath.