The HopperGrass
   (enemy of grasshoppers)

In emerald waves, 'neath sunlit skies,
I, Hoppergrass, did watch them rise,
My brethren bold, in wings arrayed,
A locust horde, a feast displayed.

But fear was not in Hopper's breast,
No trembling chirp, no panicked rest.
For I, unlike, with scythe-like limb,
Did reap the green, my foe, not kin.

They called me traitor, outcast, cursed,
A twisted soul, their hunger's worst.
I feasted not on sunlit blade,
But on their kin, in shadows laid.

A paradox, a twisted seed,
In verdant hell, my hunger freed.
They thirsted sky, I craved the dark,
A twisted dancer, leaving mark.

The moon my guide, the crickets' croon,
My lullaby, beneath the moon.
I, Hoppergrass, the shadows' son,
The enemy, the outcast one.

But in the hush, when stars ignite,
No guilt I felt, no moral blight.
For hunger's call, it knows no name,
And survival's dance, is not to blame.

So let them sing their locust songs,
Of kin devoured, endless wrongs.
I, Hoppergrass, in darkness dwell,
Content to play my paradox yell.

For in the end, beneath the sun,
We're all just dust, when all is done.
And who's to judge, in life's short stay,
What dance we choose, to light the way?