Haunted Love
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
Cicadas — sing — with — single-minded — zeal, —
Their — passion — pushed, — pulsed — through the leaves and trees.
Their song is sung so loudly that its peal
Might penetrate the rocks. The devotees
Sing — on — and — on, a squeal-like scraping sound,
Infatuation in the stones. The streams
Have dried to lifeless creek bed. A — gaping — sound —
— Goes — on — and — on, too much like strangled screams.
The keening is persistent as when death
In India brings on the widow’s cry
Except the s—t—r—i—d—u—l—a—t—i—o—n—takes—no—breath—
— And — goes — without — relief, — an — endless — — sigh. — —
The dryness, noise as of an arid host
Of spirits wailing, groans, a specter’s ghost.
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