Bugs

Mon, 08/14/2017 - 18:33 -- MARs

I sit in the parking lot of a.drive in diner.

There's a fluorescent light attracting moths and other bugs. I see them flying frantically around, trying to reach the light, darting in and off, too quickly to cause much harm.

Why are they doing that?

They must see the dead bodies stuck on the light. Why are they practically playing in a graveyard? They keep buzzing without any knowledge that they are going to end up like those remains that didn't dart quick enough.

-

I'm uncomfortable because I realize that's us. Those bugs are us. We fly into these dangerous situations hoping we're going to do better than the ones that tried before us.

That light is the battlefield in our minds, the dead bugs the ones whose minds consumed them. We see our fellow soldiers that have fallen, we see that they didn't make it, we walk right past their lifeless memories into what we hope is light. Maybe they did too.

This poem is about: 
Our world

Comments

MVP-Most Valuable Poet

Great metaphor

great storyline 

great analogy

check out my poem "another freestyle poem"

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