Cicada

The hush of hazy noon,
a suffocating blanket of 
grief and times long past, 
too late to hope.
Silky leaves shimmering,
an ocean of judgement, lest these tides
carry broken bodies to the stony shore. 

The strange chorus of the 
uncrowned rulers of our
realm; envy the ones who
feel not the pain of cognition.

The open sunlit skies, soaring, 
streaky clouds crowning light blue 
heavens, a wonderland of 
endless thoughts and dreams, 
an oasis out of reach,
hazy once-loved memories 
setting with the weeping sun.