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perhaps the moth
simply doesn't know
the strength of
its own wings
but the way it flutters
seemingly erratic
        in its choices
never straight forward
        in its direction
can be infuriating at times
as those silken sails
appear to force it
where none expect it to be
in disjointed circles
often far off course
only occasionally
will it find itself
exactly where it should be
whether accidentally
         or by design
its every path is filled
with calculated corrections
revisions and redress
in order to reach
its intended
that source of light
one way or another
Haley Protega Feb 23
You can hear the alarm bells,
See the red flags.
You know this will ruin you,
And you walk in with eyes wide open

You try to justify it to the world,
To yourself.
It's the end of the road;
a sense of belonging, finally,
of having a purpose,
and you're tired.
So tired of wandering, searching,
Choking on the salt in the air, the sea an endless barren desert with no land in sight.
So when you hear the siren's call,
And you know it spells doom,
You answer it anyway.
At least it will be over.

Except it's not death you're heading towards, but not a life either,
You'd be called crazy
If there were anyone around.

You're tired, and this feels safe,
To fall sleep in a dungeon,
To drop your heavy defenses.
It's hard work keeping them up,
And you're tired.

There's no room for mistakes in chains.
Your hands can't move to sin.
You're clean, and good;
Your mind is light, free from worry
And planning.

Your eyes fall shut.
You don't dream.
23. 02. 2023.
This poem can be interpreted in a few different ways, and I wrote it with more than one meaning in mind. Choose whichever you like best, the significance is always in the mind of the reader.
Zhavaed Haemaed May 2020
No one is making it out of here alive .. Not the obsessive compulsive hand washer who is picky lest he catches a germ no antibiotics can cure;
Not the pious cleric who prays righteously in hope for a safe haven in the next world;
Not the lovers on the  tree tops who are deluged knee deep in a hormonal immortality of old;
Not the millionaire who will do anything to have that transplant only to extend his sufferings in this world !
Not even the hedonistic party animals who have anyway accepted their fate.. No! None of us are making it out of here ..
We will cease to be ! Will be forgotten ! Our innards eaten by worms as we become fodder for the grass that grows on our graves .. Love your fate then .. Cherish this life .. this gift to think .. it wades out in to the ocean where we will all meet .. not as an individual .. but as a collective whole _ a consciousness this Earth has inherited and continue to resculpt '

Amor fati _🌹

— The End —