The Cricket Graveyard
It sits a blight on the verdant fields.
An edifice of stone and steel cut into the land.
Those who enter it are forever silenced.
Doomed to jump the giant’s halls in madness.
by Nicholas Byrley
Why a poem about crickets you ask? Someone has to tell their story! My new job is kind of in the country/edge of the city. It’s surrounded by a lot of open grass/fields populated by a lot of crickets. They find their way into the building through open doors on the dock and through the front. Once inside, they do that whole crazed stumbling cricket thing. Just wandering about until they die or get stepped on. Its a bit depressing. The training room is full of dead or half-dead crickets along the edges. This poem is for them, the lonely exiles in the human lands. Heed my warning little crickets, this is no place for you.