Friday, September 26, 2014

Moth and Death




Every creature differs,
A glass wall keeps us apart,
At cotton woods fields,
Moths, friends from outer space,
Strive toward lights with halts,
and burn themselves in the flame
of kerosene lamps,
As a fire, love is imaged
and lures hungry bodies
to some self-destruction,
Yet, while friends enjoy some
small security in a lighted room,
beyond the window,
limitless sky of the cosmos stretch,
where moths obtain growth
before heading earth for the death,
How bittersweet to see such sad song
in July's heartfelt tune...







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