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Burning Moths By Candlelight
by Daniel Wolf Roemele
I am a moth and she my candled flame
By her flickering light I guide the journey
By her guttering glow I view it all
And painted by her light, the world is glorious
And to her I am drawn
I am a moth and she my doom
Fluttering towards her I am flying
Deeper into her pool of joyous light
Ever closer to her killing flame
And by the heat of her presence
I ignite
Gossamer wings burn and seemingly evaporate
Incandescent pain lances throughout my self
I drop to the earth burned and battered
But miraculously alive
And I rail at my foolish ways
I could fly, and where did I go?
To pain, to anguish, to her
I wait to die
But I do not end upon the days next dawning
And upon my burned and scarred back
Are several strange nodules forming
Wings regrowing and a second chance
And by the evenings' cool embrace
flight have I again attained
And as I launch into the dimness
I see a soft light
Its her, her light undiminished for having consumed me
And I approach again
And…
As the next day rises, my new wings just forming
My again burned body rests now
A strange sight I see
Its her I somehow know, but different in form
In the light of day I see her for what she truly is.
Not a candle's flame, but a moth in her own right
And upon her burned back grow
A new set of wings…
© Daniel Wolf Roemele
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