moth
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Specks of dust in light
Like falling stars,
Comforting on the worst of nights.
In the headlights of oncoming cars,
Or the dull streetlamp glow.
Moths tremble soft wings,
Plain moths.
We follow the light
Never daring to touch it
Filters on our eyes,
Seeing things
That are far from the truth
Oblivious to realize the facts.
She came swiftly then.
There's a moth in my bed
That came in through the window
Helanded on my flat foot
The top to be exact
He knew of his shape.
Impressions of his shape of beauty
Was implanted inside my head.
Even the palest light lingers in the mind
Alluring, warm, radiantForever glowing, calling.
Until our fragile consciousness is broken-And then taken.
Drawn in too close, we burn
No brave solider from Greece or Rome
ever so dutifully entered their final home.
No pilgrimage of martyr or holy saint
was made with such solemnity from a soul less taint.
Then that of a moth on his calamitous rise
How doth the little moth
Fly high up in the sky?
Flitting gently from light to light
It seems to find pleasure and delight.
How does he fly with so llittle care?
Clumsy and such, but STILL doesn't care
Why do you come to the light?
It is your death you know.
You’re fluttering about my room
doomed to die on my cluttered floor
You should not have trusted my open window
And yet you did,
Why?
