Beetle

I stepped on it

I did not see it

Yet felt it on the sole of feet

Eight tiny legs flailing

The antennas twitch with pain

Its iridescent eyes never blinking

The beetle faces its death with dignity

And my feet crushes its existence...

Poetry about poetry

Drifting through the woods

Echoing between the rocks

The light hits from behind

The air musty and warm

And poetry seeps through my skin 

English Project