A hand reached out <br />something inside prevented <br />the kindly act intended. <br />The beetle, he continued though, <br />with frantic, futile moves <br />yet it was not to be. <br />Flat on his chitin back, <br />shiny and smooth, too smooth, <br />forever rolling, and sometimes sliding, <br />now making tiny noises, of incongruity. <br />I wished him then, quite fervently, <br />an obstacle which would permit <br />by inborn true stability of character, <br />the rescue so essential for survival. <br />The minutes passed, the sun <br />now having lost all interest <br />in watching fruitless struggle, <br />soon took the evening's leave, <br />a frigid wind with promises of rain <br />swept leaves and dust <br />in endless circles to and fro, <br />I thought of Anton Mesmer <br />and his silly passes, both arms <br />he used them with such earnestness, <br />first drops fell from a neutral sky <br />where masters of the universe reside, <br />yet one black beetle still remained, <br />left to his own incompetent devices. <br />You'll drown, an inner voice began to chant, <br />to him as well, he knew about his fate <br />life-giving drops would fill his belly soon <br />and like a bomb he would explode <br />leaving a mess of jellied black <br />and not a single memory behind. <br />Decision made, I reached <br />into this low-life's mad inferno, <br />when, with a vulgar shriek <br />a gust, with leisure on its wings, <br />raced through as on a mission, <br />upright, exhausted legs alive <br />he stood and looked me in the eye, <br />with tears of gratitude as if to say <br />perhaps I will, one day repay the deed, <br />it must have been the blindness <br />of capitulation, a pinhead brain <br />committing all resources to the end. <br />If Gods are willing, may there be <br />a helpful hand, if not a friendly breeze <br />for all the beetles in their time of need.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-black-beetle/
