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Aa Harvey Jul 2019
Bee-for


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,  
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.
-2019
Been trying to sit down and write a poem every day. Here's today's. Good morning!
Zaza Apr 2019
I just

Want to find a love
That leaves me with butterflies in my stomach

Instead of moths in my closet
Mar Orellana Feb 2019
Over the years, my stomach became
the grave of a thousand butterflies.
My ribcage filled with moths
craving the tiniest amount of light
they could possibly find in the dark.
So they are poking holes on my flesh
by feeding on my nerves, skin and veins.
And I let them do it.

Deep down I know they won’t stop
until I become one of them.
And deep down, I don’t mind.
leyla Aug 2018
we leave the crumbs of our breakfast
on the windowsill, where we can watch
the ants arrive, and carry them away,
to their hills at the base of the maple trees.
they can't talk to us, but we can sense
their tiny gratitudes.
skin against skin, and tongues against
tongues, the glow from our faces is just
enough for the moths to recognize, for
them to want to dance around our heads.
they bask in the light of our love, and we
know they feel it too.
i live to see you smile, the kind of smile
that shines so brightly, like the way a leaf
beetle's shell does, when the sun decides
to hit it in a way that's exactly right.
they don't notice their iridescence, or how
perfect they are.
<3
The uniVerse Jun 2018
Let me caress your every sinew
I do not care if you've been used
for many men know the temple of God
but few on holy ground have trod
her birthplace that is creation
yet they treat you with predation
a child that sleeps within your womb
soon your bed will be their tomb
the years of men will surely pass
upon your head I count the grass
they outnumber thee ten fold to one
and yet their bud is still but young
our age is like a moth at night
that travels towards the sacred light
and is extinguished by the flame
Will you remember my name?
your favoured son
Will you forgive the things I've done?
or another knot in the tree become
https://www.instagram.com/p/ByEKZlcngwO/
What if the moths that crash
against the dark window pane;
wings pattering urgently pushing
trying to break through the glass,
are the dead souls in the tunnel
flying towards the light
of the supposed paradise
but they can’t get through.

Then they fly about outside
like dusty ghosts of the night.
Strange late night imaginings I had about the moths at the window.

6th April 2016
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