We Denizens of Honeycomb Hills by Wesley D. Gray
We were a colony of the broken,
a colony of famished sorrow,
our eyes branded with the searing tongues
that licked away the life we knew,
tongues that lapped our loved ones
into a throat that swallowed
with the immensity of an endless shadow,
and the hunger of our huntress whale
stalking her krill throughout this flaming sea.
Wherever we looked,
it was all the same:
we tried to blink away
the horrors in hopeless flutters,
but the smoke of writhing bodies
will never leave our eyes.
So we march
into the dreaded hills
like a line of melted ants
detached from the hive mind,
brains disoriented
like a jumble of squirming worms.
We build our huts in latticework,
unconventional honeycombs
as if to build away our old way of life,
but now we are just the parasites
lost in a world no longer ours.
And so here we huddle,
here we nest,
the oscillations of our cries
phasing into broadcasts
at long-range frequency,
the vibrations of our shared lament
humming static throughout the night.
illustration By unknown master (book scan) [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
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