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CICADAS
 

 
The silence that we call ''dead'' is living
breathing,moving anywhere,gaily singing
death is life if many of us are grieving
for inside that pain you feel you are living

a glance outside the window will bring a view
from life,we call dead, just a bit just a few
but a small look and close gaze will look new
and details in zoom will thus look very true

summer is hot but heat is the season's way to speak
in warm wirlwinds and dusts that make one sick
sounds that fill the air and spin around but play
no guitar is seen or saxo just the wings that beat

Cicadas take the lead and buzz droning theme
somewhere they lurk in the shade from sun beam
a shrilling singsong but to the poet's ear is a dream
so flimsy wings yet the chirp is heard when they teem


no more complaint a nature's song is freely paid
Maestros in shade,a random symphony is lead
Go'ds hand behind the blue curtain just a hint
critters that sing like rain freezing a summer heat

no other word could fill an empty space on earth
i have seem perfection since first years of birth
still do i watch and gaze and ponder over evry inch
on earth ,and do the best for a poetic level to reach

and Cicadas somewhere still feast the summer tide
along with crickets ,locustS in evey hiddeen abide
stirring my sense;arousing the feel in my heart
from the heat, a poem is a baby born apart

By truefeeling

© 2015 truefeeling (All rights reserved)

 

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This Poem is part of a Challenge: - Anything Goes Challenge with Sallee (Sally) read page for rules and info (challenge has been closed)


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