lulled away by a cacophonous symphony

lulled away by a cacophonous symphony

between two trunks, cocooned, 

we wait as the longing builds

to a crescendo, to wake with the birds, 

all of this paradise a twitter. hanging free, 

listening to the sun fall. “did you hear that?”

yes! all creatures hear the first movement, listen!

the final philosopher is conducting.

lulled away by a cacophonous symphony,

floating in a nocturnal speleothem chandelier,

confusing echolocators daily torpor,

the weak in the colony falls dead stupor.

starved by the fungus at the mouth of the cave,

white fuzz fluffs in once priceless guano.

others hang waiting on the moths,

drawn like butter to the feeding buzzes,

those with the strength join in the refrain.

cradled winds of serenity thrush, 

old owls shattered by a roar in the air.

the rukh returns from the void and the waste,

collecting his due from the final philosopher. 

the contagious child forgets their words,

look for yourself floating in the middle

of this planet in its sixth mass extinction,

sharing in the cause endangered.

falling like dominoes species after species,

all the ones that made it to the ark,

carried to the waste and the void. 

rukh made fast work of the second movement,

an agreement played in the concord of the sound.

understanding in the shadows that fall at noon,

the sun sets revealing more truths.

every death slowly destroys the philosopher,

and with him goes the truth, natural extinction is sped up.

no more flocks, no need for collective names

waking on edge in an exoskeleton dream.

the cloud of birdwing butterflies goes poof

in silent spring the abundance has disappeared,

last insects die-off, the feast for scarabs has cleared. 

the bird of prey carried more shadows away,

an expert at composing hurdy-gurdy, 

the third movement ended in trumpets and bagpipes.

the morning was breaking with less truth,

even honeybees woke early doing good work,

everything in the moment, worshipping the rise of the sun.

glory! the final philosopher conducted the final movement,

a poetic sonata-rondo, waking hazily unacquainted

with the rest of the piece, shadows fall with the sun stalker.

joy still hangs crisp in the air of musical perfection,  

calls and chatters the conductor may never describe,

disappear. all species contemplate one thought,

notes fall from the piece to the void and the waste, 

the final philosopher is running with the truth.