Am I a moth caught beneath a lampshade,
beating gray and white wings,
flailing for a way out,
is there an escape?
This is what I thought I wanted
drawn so naturally to the light
In the heat of the bare white bulb
the dust becomes embers
exhausting
what little
life
was left.
baudelaire's "hymn to beauty"
ReplyDeleteThe dazzled moth flies to you, candle,
crisps, flames and says: Let us bless this torch!
whatever our own candle might be -- beauty, a person, risk or money -- we find it eventually and love the flame ...
what we want will always bring our demise, or rather it will seem that way but the truth is that we are set on the path to our demise regardless. why not flutter near the heat?
ReplyDeletexo
erin