That Bug Poem by Kevin Maroney

That which stings, inserts its needle,
through the heartstrings, does it steal.
None have a chance to avoid its bite,
when they see only candy, not such spite.

The future's incomprehensible to those of such pain,
they only saw the present and what there was to gain,
a future, a life, a wondrous union unbelievable,
till cut down in the prime, killed by the beetle.

A shell fashioned to look the velvet,
hides a monster of such repugnance,
how could one fall, a friend, a love,
till one sees something belying a dove.

That bug, true irony, takes on its form
as in its virtue, squashes the norm.