Assassin Bug

I think I spy an assassin bug,
Stalking amongst the twigs,
A reduviid killer,
Aspect of mantis,
Proclivity of spider,
A tiny predator of a huge world,
Or is it a tiny one?
Does the world belong to the bugs?

Cloaked in the corpses of ants,
Previous ravaged conquests,
Both armour and disguise,
Its proboscis twitches,
Secreting a lethal nectar,
Expecting to digest defeated internals,
Fodder for an emotionless killer,
I see it close in on an innocent,

Unsuspecting soul on a branch,
It strikes,
All wings and blades,
Corrosive saliva injected,
Reducing chitin to husk,
Its grim meal complete,
It gazes over at me,
Eyeing me hungrily,

Fight or flight?

Leaves

I sit here in this bountiful garden,
Passing the summer hours,
Gazing over the various arbors,
That stand guard at the perimeter,
In their viridian dress coats,

They are true fountains of life,
Green with envy,
At our freedom,
Though we should be jealous,
Of their eternal dignity,

The leaves,
They splay out in the sun,
Like angels wings,
With a more tangible divinity,
Laying bare mother nature’s selflessness,

The autumnal browns arrive,
The leaves succumb,
A vision of entropy,
But cast a blanket of rejuvenation,
For the thirsty earth,

The winds twist through the branches,
Imparting a sacred message,
For all of humanity,
Be as the leaves,
Love your earth.

Hateful God

There once was a God who learned to hate,
He grew tired of benevolence,
And perhaps of divinity too,
His creations only brought disappointment,

Beasts of fang and scale grew tiresome,
Achieving nothing but a tedious cycle of predator and prey,
His creations of the waves too,
Fins and scales offer no diversion,

He looks to the skies,
And hates the souls flying overhead,
Cursing at his avian creations,
Each wing-beat an assumed insult to his godhood,

Most of all he loathes those of his image,
Dominating a world he made,
Squabbling over salt and dirt,
Boring, boring and boring,

A bored God is a dangerous God,
A dissatisfied one even more so,
What if he decided to inject some amusement?
A cataclysm there,
A flood here,
Or a plague over there,
Something a hateful God could unleash upon his subjects of ire,

What if this God decided to throw his toys away,
And started anew?