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
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
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.
Moths in great abundance - cavorting and obsessed - Flit about the fluoro lights with single-mindedness; They spiral in confusion as they misjudge the view, 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.