a chorus
arose
from the
grasses,
a cry
to the great
galaxy above.
the locusts work their way
up into one sound, one voice.
their massive identity is
overwhelming.
one lone cricket
cries out,
an unmatched
pair.
does that make him
a rising star
with his singularly
unique song,
or does it
make him
a tragedy?
the frenetic pace
hides his melancholy and
I wonder how many know
his secrets.
who are they singing to,
this creation?
why do they pick up their tune
each evening
and lull the world slowly
to sleep?
if we were to meet in the daylight,
nary a soul
would dare name a locust
beautiful,
and yet under the cloak of night,
their chorus rings true.
is it a goodbye anthem
to fading Summer?
a melody of welcome
to Fall
who saunters around the corner?
Please keep singing,
lonely cricket;
don't let
the world
put out your song,
just yet.
