Perfection

Little bugs, beetles, and ants galore,
Crickets far away, fiddling in unison,
The muffled whoosh of a car ten miles away,
And the soft glow of the yard lights
Illuminating the way through the trees.
Dark, yes, quiet, yes, familiar, yes, it’s so.
But where is the comfort that spells home?
Where is the relief from the bonds of city life?
Where is rest from tension and frustration?
Perhaps I have broken the bonds that keep me
Ever-tethered to this place, these memories
That haunt my slumber still with evil things
That happened, breaking the idyllic placidity
Of what could have once been perfection.