The colony of Death
sleeps, well hidden and upside down,
in the cavern during the daylight of daily life.
The hordes of flying forms usually spiral up and swarm out at twilight.
Yet, random wings might emerge
anytime
to tune in to the fluttering of our lives,
eating the juicy moth of our existence.
The balance of nature,
recycling our bodies into
the sweet smell of guano,
strong flapping of amazingly articulated wings,
body merging back into the world
within which
we too once ate and shat.
does the spirit thus set free
soar more easily
when we see death coming straight at us?
or shall we hope for annihilation from behind our backs, in the bliss of ignorance?
by Terra Rafael
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