Mantis

The bright green armor of the thorax
Is mottled now and autumnal,
The eyes, like pools of ink,
grow dim.
That quick inquisitive look about
is hardly present,
Your head dips and exhausted body splays.
Only the once strong front legs,
Lined with tibial spines like a gladiator’s,
Still grope tentatively and reach out to the branch.

Gone now are the days when you devoured your mates,
When you hunted the spider with impunity and
All lesser creatures cowered before your majesty.
Head cocked, eyes bright, your raptorial legs cocked in prayer,
Ready to snatch your prey and draw it to your waiting mandibles,
Unrelenting devourer of the still living.

The arc of life is short and painted in a season.
I look in your eyes and see my own demise,
See time take power and purpose from us both.
Gone now into the ground of the lost past,
Sweet dreams of passion at the edge of the field,
Surfeit of pleasures now dusty with memory,
Youth behind and the abyss before.

There is no tenderness in this season for either of us,
Little solace in the children we have borne, or
The food we have consumed or bonds we made.
The arc closes and dusk comes in
When the air clicks with the promise of frost
And the end of Summer days.

September 24, 2016

Image Source