La Morgue in the heart of Paris.
Like a worm in the heart of a rose.
Tawdry, shameless and sordid ; a temple of unloved dead.
Where the travesty of human life is exalted.
Where the Seine and the slum cast up their nameless offering to the
Behind this soiled curtain-this flimsy insufficiency that
hangs between the street urchin and the unthinkable-there
surely dwells a demon god, watchful, insatiate, ministered to
by lust, disease and design.
Who are all these men and women and babes, labelled,
exposed, these terrible wares displayed behind the plate-
glass window ?
This is the Chapelle Ardente of murder and suicide, where
pity is drowned in the horror, prayer in stupefaction.
And over the way, rising devout from the dust, Our Lady
of Paris lifts her stately head and points with jewelled fingers
to God’s immaculate blue sky.
– by: Millicent Von Boeselager (ca. early 1900’s)
– altered by Hystoria