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Echo Mar 2020
This night I got lost
In a field of lilies
Some white and broad
Some red and fine
Both are for death
One for mourning
One for killing
And as the moon's light slowly fades
As the morning sun rises
And red becomes pink
Becomes yellow
Becomes blue
I feel the last remaining moth land on my arm
There is a peace in knowing it wont last much longer
And neither will I
No moths were harmed in the making of this poem
blushing prince Sep 2019
there is a moth that resides on my bedside table
inside the warm lamp like a womb
like an endearing cozy hand
reaching for your face in the middle of a frozen hysteria
he rises from his bed of light every night
a bottom floor full of mirth and fuzz
ready to relay the songs of his memories
slow dancing in the small space of my room like he's memorized where the floor slants and what parts creak
his mouth moves in a jagged frenzy and I am devoured inside the falsetto of a pregnant hum so constant my breathing loops in significant O's
he waits for my eyes to close so that his wings open up
moving the dust to gather itself and move to another part of the house
the fluttering in sync with the wavering of the hypnotic sound waves
the antennae sighing along with the mist outside slowly forming on the windowsill
my head becomes a hot sun and as the beads of sweat trickle he moves closer until he reaches with spindly legs
drying the perspiration from my forehead with a tongue that shushes me to sleep until I am still in a cocoon of silk
telling me that want and need are always the same things
always the same things
i submitted this into a contest but I think I'd rather just post it here
Pyrrha Aug 2019
I don't have butterflies in my stomach
They are more like moths
Eating me alive from within

I kind of like the way they tickle
Anastasia Jul 2019
she was
shadow cast
born of dark
eyes like jewels
and a starry night sky
night dew as her tears
moon dust in her lungs
the moths were her butterflies
fireflies, her halo
she was
shadow cast
White plumerias fall
like moths fluttering the light
Of a crescent moon.
Moths started to fly over and around. I feel sleepy. I see a crescent moon. But I look at the white Plumeria flowers falling gently before everything else.
Aa Harvey Jul 2019

I’m no social butterfly, but I buzz from flower to flower.
I talk to all as I do the rounds, but my resting face looks dour.
They think that I am feeling sad,
Even when the sun is shining on me;
They don’t see me as a buzzing bee.
They don’t see me working for The Queen.

She sits upon her majestic throne and watches us pass by.
We all seem to bee happy; the work keeps us in tune,
But one day soon, this little buzzing bee,
Will bee found staring at the moon.

The moths say they can do it;
They’re gonna fly up there one day.
They see the light and all its might;
They have big dreams, I would say.

My dreams are only small hopes;
I am not asking for the moon.
I’d like a bee to fly with, so with her I could share my jokes.
I want to make her laugh and smile;
So I would appreciate it if I could meet her soon.

I collect all the honey and build octagons;
The perfect shape to make the most of the honey we consume.
I don’t need a large pile of honey,
To build myself the future I believe I am due.

You see my heart is limited;
It only has space for two.
You and me; me and you.
The sound of my buzz is out of tune.

(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Moths in great abundance - cavorting and obsessed -
Flit about the fluoro lights with single-mindedness;
They spiral in confusion as they misjudge the view,Β Β 
Believing that their beacon lies as distant as the moon
They ride this fatal arc until their final destination;
With exhausted wings and will they then collapse in desiccation.
Julian Moses May 2019
Silhouette of the reaper
Shadow of my fear
Branding me with
Thoughts of my own demise
Our fragile moth wings
Incinerate when we touch the light.
Been trying to sit down and write a poem every day. Here's today's. Good morning!
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