Each night insects defend my slumber,
by drowning out the sounds of screaming bombshells,
drifting through the jet black sky,
somewhere in the west,
but I'm too afraid to look,
So I apply my attention to the insects,
who distract me enough to allow me to find peace at war.

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A moth insanely batters its wings,
along the sliding glass door,
hoping for a chance to escape,
and chase the sun,
it's movements become more frantic,
soon it begins a slow descent to the ground.