The castle walls are feeling thick and formidable,
This window seems blank, as night begins to fall,
And the fires of those outside burns in the still darkness,
The moth, flies, flutters by, inside then out,
As it feels a piece of the moment, fading away,
Knowing that in its reclusive movement, it will find its way
Awash, with knowing much, trying to find its way back,
Outside, to the fresh air, where stagnation hasn't set
Where the feeling is still fresh, where the night moves.