"And there once were insects" (a poem)

and held it in the round container of my hands

it would leave a smudge of powder,

white, pink or bluish-gray.

I used to go to sleep to a symphony of insects.

They tuned up as the sun was setting.

The sound was orchestral in scope

increasing and deepening

until it felt like I was being rocked to sleep

by waves of sound.

Where did they all go?

Some people call them pests.

But oh, how I cherish those memories

of being rocked to sleep

by the music of pests.

(Article changed on July 31, 2017 at 03:01)

Next Page  1  |  2  |  3

(Note: You can view every article as one long page if you sign up as an Advocate Member, or higher).