with humbling intent,
a tender, sweet ascent,
scaling the moon and it’s light
will make their nightly presence
though adhering to a time,
and an angle sub-sublime,
the milky coin of the sky,
perceives to have a purpose
in guiding fine critters of the night
meanwhile,
convinced that the snappy sun may make her
as beautiful
as refined
as adored as butterflies
the moth searches, desperately,
for a luster that may transform her
may fulfill her
may expose her
to a reality,
a beauty,
she doesn’t know
only caring for the yellow,
and finding it on porches
of human creatures,
those known for their shallowness,
a moth is attracted to the light
just as fake
as those who invented it.
she tries to shower herself in it,
deciding that the scarring
heat and burn
is simply a side effect.
not until her heart stops,
and her fragile body drops,
does it ever occur to her,
that discontent is dangerous.
