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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Sunshine is a bit bland in these parts

No longer wooly yellow sleeves

But a dull tan  sheen

That filters through the teeth on the combs next to me

I place my ear up to the soft wall, pressing my whole left side against it

Desperately listening for the secrets that mother has to offer

The shrill  of a locust as he seems to bound effortlessly up the wall beside me

Is all I hear as the damp air moves through me.


He  is on the hunt-- ready to begin a new swarm

But nothing is here but me and the patches

His world is not ready

And neither is mine


I’ve been listening hard for a while now

Still pressed against the tickling rug

Hoping to catch the moment when all the secrets are spilled by the pebbles in the dirt

But now  all I hear is the doubtful  tapping of leaves against the  mounds

The ones that make themselves in rows

Along this wall of earth’s secrets.


Sideways inscriptions on these mounds mark the spot

A place fresh with dirt in just a month past

Where she might have disclosed those plans


Those of going into the mountains to wait out her war.


Yet, with good jest


Here I  am hoping to hear every detail

Every plan that had lied ahead

Even with the figure hovering closely behind me

Pulling away from my clarity


“ Get up ”, a simple two words before he walks away

Expecting me to change my perspective

To go horizontal with the world I am in now

To enter “reality” and conform


“What a bogus apparition in the mist” the ground finally whispers

“You have my goal to complete

Before the new war begins”

These secrets just might ignite the swarm


Submitted: September 25, 2018

© Copyright 2021 devin.the.poet. All rights reserved.

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Poem / Non-Fiction