There Are Days, These Days

There are days 
you feel like a spider on a bicycle, 
eight legs flailing, drumming furiously,
bouncing around 
on two pedals,
with a silk string guitar 
riding loosely in the basket.

There are days
you feel like a common moth,
an unappreciated pollinator,
a drab butterfly.
Brown wings soar and flutter
in the quiet night…
An incessant drive
to fly into artificial light.

There are days 
you feel like a cicada
waiting for the perfect
prime number.
A life spent protected 
in a dark and earthy solitude, 
though impelled,
compelled to climb the tree
and shed your skin.
Magic.

Photographer: Unknown 

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4 thoughts on “There Are Days, These Days

  1. I’ve always loved the use of the metaphoric/conceptual idea of nature in a poem. I’m not sure exactly what it was, but some part provoked the question in my mind “Is it better to be the best of the worst, or the worst of the best?”. Thank you for sharing.

    Liked by 1 person

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