IN CHRYSALIS
Don’t tell me I’ll have wings tomorrow.
Don’t tell me I’ll have wings and I can fly.
Don’t tell me that I’ll rise tomorrow.
It’s hard enough to know I had to die.
It’s hard enough to keep from asking “Why.”
Don’t tell me that my eyes will open.
I’ve seen enough to last through time.
Don’t tell me I’ll be light, unshackled.
The shackles of this life were bread and wine.
The feeling of the life I knew was fine.
Don’t fill my head with lovely fancies.
I may have hoped, but hope is blind.
I meant it when I said “It’s finished.”
You hope, but never know. So never mind.
I wonder if the choice was ever mine.
I’ve heard this blood will change to ichor,
This flesh, this mind, this too shall pass.
But - hanging on a tree forever;
The hours in this tomb go slow so fast.
All wound and sealed, alone at last.
This flesh of mine will turn to nurture,
Will join the earth, to feed, to mend.
I’ve eaten full my share, and deeply,
With love and pain enough up to the end.
I’ve known a long, long time that it would end.
Coda: Don’t tell me that I'll rise tomorrow-
Don’t tell me that I’ll rise-
tell me that I’ll rise-
that I’ll rise-
I’ll rise
Alleluia-Alleluia
The song of a caterpillar in chrysalis who supposes that he’s dead He’s heard myths about “butterflies,” but it’s already taken all his strength and courage to accept dying. And having been a caterpillar was already plenty.
The Rev. Nick Hodsdon
United Church of Christ
Don’t tell me I’ll have wings tomorrow.
Don’t tell me I’ll have wings and I can fly.
Don’t tell me that I’ll rise tomorrow.
It’s hard enough to know I had to die.
It’s hard enough to keep from asking “Why.”
Don’t tell me that my eyes will open.
I’ve seen enough to last through time.
Don’t tell me I’ll be light, unshackled.
The shackles of this life were bread and wine.
The feeling of the life I knew was fine.
Don’t fill my head with lovely fancies.
I may have hoped, but hope is blind.
I meant it when I said “It’s finished.”
You hope, but never know. So never mind.
I wonder if the choice was ever mine.
I’ve heard this blood will change to ichor,
This flesh, this mind, this too shall pass.
But - hanging on a tree forever;
The hours in this tomb go slow so fast.
All wound and sealed, alone at last.
This flesh of mine will turn to nurture,
Will join the earth, to feed, to mend.
I’ve eaten full my share, and deeply,
With love and pain enough up to the end.
I’ve known a long, long time that it would end.
Coda: Don’t tell me that I'll rise tomorrow-
Don’t tell me that I’ll rise-
tell me that I’ll rise-
that I’ll rise-
I’ll rise
Alleluia-Alleluia
The song of a caterpillar in chrysalis who supposes that he’s dead He’s heard myths about “butterflies,” but it’s already taken all his strength and courage to accept dying. And having been a caterpillar was already plenty.
The Rev. Nick Hodsdon
United Church of Christ
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