Poem: Cicada Poem

Cicada Poem

Do you think the long sleep of the cicadas
is a waste?  All those years
resting in a womb of earth,
waiting in their slumber to rise:
so many years of it.

It seems sad and strange,
so long to wait for life
and then, the single day
with sun and air
and pleasures of the flesh,

it seems a waste, life unused,
wasted.  But, I wonder
if the world maybe
is the dream of cicadas,
if they must sleep it into being,

imagine them, deep below us,
minds conjuring the world,
dreaming all this,  until they wake
to turn the dreaming over
to their soon born successors.

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