this generation is such a pest

the cicadas come

after nineteen years of silence

oozing in the dirt

to the sun and sky

to yell

at the top of their wings

that they have been finally given a voice

that they will not waste

for they must mate and mourn

then die after two weeks

and after planting the next nineteen years

who will never know

the poetry written in dirt

that was sacrificed for summer

that goes on embodied

that came

*

burn

until the world mistakes

smokes for clouds

that hold the meaning of what it means to wail

from loss and the hope of extinguishing

feelings that will one day dry

but not before the air thickens

with the violence of you consuming it all

and in turn warming the world

that will cry later on

for it is unmistakeably cold now

after you have been

burnt

*

go,

that is all that

is

before

that is all that

is

gone