the last flight of the cicadas

Seventeen years after the world ends
The shadow blasted earth will shift.
Skeletal trees will give no shade
To the last emergence of life
Hideous larval grotesqueries churn
lifeless ground gives birth to legion
Final cycle circling in the ashes
Spread and cover every dead surface
Bereft of predators or sustenance
One last bittersweet melody shall play
Cicada concerto in the wasteland

No one to see chitinous exoskeletons
litter the sidewalk like shell casings
Discarded templates reflect gray light
Translucent remnants of a hundred
Thousand Houdini transformations
Cover the fissured, scared, broken
Earth that was illused, illtreated
Carapace shed, antennae unfurl
Sticky ichor coats wax wings
Shimmer like glass, fill the air
Ancient, multi-faceted eyes regard
Barren ruins devoid of life,
Crawl through deserted playgrounds
Rising tide washes empty theatres
Pale ancient angelic insects
Fly through leaden skies
Consume ashes and dust
The final cicada’s wing
Flutters one last time
The song ceases
silence rules all