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Mel Williams Mar 2019
In silence, I pray with a reference never before known to me.
It is soft and fragile,
tentative, like a child,
small, like a grasshopper.
It floats from one ray of light to another,
with a loud whoosh that does not ask for pardon for its sound.
It speaks in a tight whisper,
throat raspy from lack of use,
or maybe too many cigarettes.
It flips onto that same cloud it floated on earlier,
moth wings flapping like some incandescent bug
lit up by the electricity of a bug-zapper.

Fear does not silence it.

--It rings its glamorous wings without entropy--

And so I offer a call into that wide madness of space.

It does not answer.

       I did not expect it to.

And that is okay.
cleann98 Feb 2019
have you once
thought about
whether or not
moths ever feel
afraid
of getting burned
by the light
they always
and forever
long to chase?

don't you think
they stop
for even a second
to deliberate
about it?

or maybe
to them
and their short life
it was worth it?

hey,
did you consider
that maybe
it's why the have
such short lifespans?

perhaps in the lenses of
miniscule eyes
of ephemeral dismal colors
in this infinite world
the warmth
of flames
are all they live for?

i don't know...
maybe that's why
we humans live longer?

we,
or at least some of us
have the mind enough
to say that
"this is the
"closest"
"i'll ever be'
"to the sun"

before we all turn into ashes.
hey icarus, if you had the chance to conquer the skies knowing you might melt your wings forever, would you even try to soar?
Pyrrha Feb 2019
I think asking for a soulmate is too much
Perhaps I should seek instead a kindred spirit
I'll find one along my journey across the sea
A fellow traveler, wanderer, foreigner
Someone else who sees the beauty in the little things
Who finds their passions in what others deem to be lesser
They will be like a sunflower in a rose bush;
A willow tree in a forest of redwoods

My moth amongst butterflies
Brandon Conway Feb 2019
Engines turned off as I free fall
and watch
drifting in this star's gravity
the ships
bathe in the ocean of life
and then
one continues toward the flame
a moth
heats up and dissipates
another lost to madness
So it goes
She had a love in her heart
And never let it go
Even when it led her astray
And every night, she lay alone and pondered
Asking questions to the midnight sky, and receiving moonbeams for answers.
Her nightgown fluttered in the dark room like the wings of a butterfly or moth
Her eyes gleamed in the night, like moonbeams of Heavenly design
Her hair is strands of silver silk woven by a goddesses loom
Her face as pale as the face of the moon
Her feet are bare and she treads with an airy float
And she dances
A magnificent flowing whirl
Entrancing all those who see her, a Heavenly girl,
The woman in the moon
The inquirer of the gods
And her wings flutter softly in the spotlight the moon's rays have created for her
And she flutters back home.

The people below watch the iridescent butterfly take flight, and they think to themselves "What a lovely night it is!"
Shea Feb 2019
I could run away or stay
Living like a moth to a flame.
I always try to chase the light,
But the light has burned out.
And these days I'm stuck in old ways,
So where a light used to be
Is where I sit patiently
In the dark
Hoping for a flickering flame.
Denise Egan Jan 2019
Brightly you burn; dancing in the ever so gentle breeze,
I flutter cautiously; dodging your odd, dangerous flicker,
How could I be drawn to something so dangerous?
Something that could execute me in one swift movement,
But I keep fluttering, around and around and around,
Until I become so exhausted that everything becomes a blur and I fall to the pits of despair,
It would take a thousand words to describe my devotion to you,
Every moment spent in your angelic presence renders me incapable of logical thinking,
So I rise once more, for you to watch my shadow play on the walls of your heart.
Mujen Suraj Jan 2019
With the sleeping silence of moth
He walks, in this dead morning,
like a winner of the yesterday.
steps up from the sinking hills
drags his heavy shoulder,
carries the soul of today.

The gloomy sunlight of dawn,
shines for him. He witnessed a flood of
the last moon,
In dark night.
With the dogs' howl, face is staring to up.
He doesn't look back,
far back, the villages of ghosts,
He crossed.

The festival of blood ends.
with the red moon.
The flower of wind of east
bruises wounds of his now.
He, immersed from the sweats in many moons.

He sang the songs of tomorrow,
red and silky. He harvests the flower
of sand.
In his hand, kept a treasure,
the dust of last wood.


The cold face is rising now,
with the disappearance of the last firefly.
Like the winner of yesterday,
He swipes sweats, seeks for Eli.
The compassion and vengeance
holds in the grail.

In the dream, He kissed the illusion.
swam in the sea of Milkyway.
He solemnly pierced the flower of the hurricane,
in his blue heart.
And claimed the meaning of nothing.

In the foreign land, He emptied the bag
of the voyage.
The footstep in the snowy path, cracking
the silence of manhood.
Then, he loved the selfishness of
his lover,
He is brave to not to return.
Shea Jan 2019
Like a moth
I'm drawn to the flame
Where I keep getting burned
I'm hurting in my soul.

My fingers are cut
My voice is weak
If there's anything left,
It was gone last week
Gabriel burnS Nov 2018
… A moth whispering confessions high towards the ceiling… worshiping a false god and its dooming light… as the moth wings are burning with unrequited love… flapping self-fulfilling prophecies...
My wings are growing and I wonder… are you to be my lightbulb...
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