Ferocity Restrained

Facebookrssinstagram

That ladybug is done.

It splits its ruddy mold,

Splaying tiny fly wings

Unfurling from their fold.

.

That still small voice

Is only loud to little ears,

And those tiny drips dropping

Flood our cities after years

.

These marching ants move

Like a military fleet

While this tiny blade of grass

Is splitting concrete.

.

That quiet gentle zephyr

Turns the clouds into rain.

The beach is built with sand:

Grain by grain.

.

Slowly the seconds slip

Into many hours,

And the prince who has no people

Has no mighty power.

.

These empty silent choices

Do a lifestyle make

Each breath culminates

To be that which death will take

.

And every little wave

That comes gliding into shore

Makes the blacktop highways

A little less secure

.

The eye is full of looking

But it is too big to see

The smallness of importance:

That restrained ferocity

.

The fury of a pheasant wing

The insect’s compound eye

The force of fishtails flitting

The ladybug lifts to fly

.

And all these tiny things

That we may or may not see

Tell us little stories

About our souls great brevity.

.

Consider the  faux pas

Of making triumphal entry

with 11 disciples pulling you

on a stubborn stolen donkey

.

The ladybug is done.

He flies away home,

And you are left to wonder

To let your blood roam.

.

“Those dots, they aren’t my eyes

They are my gilded thorax

Those things, they aren’t your life

They are your little knick-nacks.”

-Ladybug

Facebooktwitterpinterest

What do you think?