Bright white, blinding,
lost in a sea of light.
Radar no longer functioning,
then suddenly intense, murderous heat
scorching legs and wings.


Trying to navigate a way out
they watch from the bed,
lost in its own Bermuda Triangle.


He is fascinated - how stupid
a creature can be to **** itself
on a light bulb.


She, understanding the distraction
of the light, sheds a tear
for how love hurts
and destroys you in the end.

A massive moth outside in the night
Flings itself at
My bathroom window.
Another Icarus
Sorely tempted by the electric light within
My house.

A swooping vulture
It tries again and again,
Fracturing its fragile wings:
Battering itself to exhaustion.

Perhaps it curses some Moth God
And feels a failure in life,
Totally frustrated
At not being able to reach its imperative goal.
Not knowing
That had it succeeded
It would now be
Incinerated.

Paul Butters

© PB 25\8\2019.

Moth or butterfly?
It isn't the caterpillar that decides

which one was i, the meddlesome moth or the bumbling butterfly
was i instinctively drawn, to an open flame, on a lonely night
or, caught in intricately, meticulously, woven spider’s web
how could i avoid either fate, all men are dumb and succumb, as did i
both end the same, in death, only one is fast, the other slow
how sweet it was, to have kissed her lips, to have been, her lover