The Cicada And The Fly Poem by Mark Scotting

It’s a warm summer’s night,
The Cicada’s sing their song.

Forsaken by the masses
An undistinguished melody
Just, a silent hum
Whispering,
To be noticed.

But tonight
I’m besieged,
By the drone

A fly sits on the wall
Cunningly positioned
Just, out of sight

It’s eager,
To go unnoticed
Reluctant,
To take flight

It’s a warm summer’s night

And I’m off my game
My biorhythms erratic
I can’t really give a reason why?

Torn,
Between the Cicada’s song
And that game played, by the fly

I dispute the merits of the two
It bounces around my head

I wonder,

Does everyone have these thoughts?
Contest a similar question?

“To be or not to be”
Hmmm yes,
The question!
Was he contemplating?
The Cicada,
And the fly.

Deliberating the reason
The Cicada sings to be noticed
And the fly takes solace with his guise
To remain unnoticed by passersby

I wonder which the two courses,
True.

Is it up to the individual
Left, solely up to you

The hours pass,
And still they sing

Damn!

The Cicada’s song is loud tonight
Forbidding any chance of sleep
Unquestionably,
It is noticed now!

That cunning Fly takes to the sky
Joining the Cicada’s symphony

This temporary change in disposition
The unnoticed caught my eye
Something, he swiftly would regret

And now,
Drenched in insecticide
The cunning fly,
Concedes,
His final flight!

I’m sure there is a moral to my story,
Somewhere to be found!
But it is late,
And as I said
“I’m off my game”

All of this was bouncing round my head
And the bloody noise,

Driving me insane!


Copyright(2010)