Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Don't ask me why....
I was a moth in my dream...
One morning several weeks ago I woke up and I wrote this down.
The sun rises, and I sleep.
Nestled on this tree, blended in so few can see,
I wait, I wait, I wait.
At high noon, I'm in the shade,
The birds and squirrels all play.
I hear them, and I wait.
At dusk the crickets chirp and cry,
The birds have settled-
Now a darkening sky. And I feel awake.
I reach and stretch- My wings ready,
Antennae feel, I hear the night,
The bats have already taken flight.
I leave my secluded, sheltered place.
I feel alive, the nights embrace--
My head clear...Until I see "It".
Suddenly my wings flutter,
My body shudders. I see it,
A golden orange flicker of light.
As if it were a drug,
My hearts only true love--
The heat, the passion, the draw,
Of the Flame.
All day in the coolness of the shade-
In the safety of my hiding place,
I forget the heat. I live each day without it.
I spend each sunlit hour in recovery,
Trying to mend the burned
And singed places.
And then the night falls, and I am called,
Drawn ever closer and closer.
A bond fire burns, the smoke fills my senses,
I fly with all my might to the source of heat and light.
A source, unlike the sun, that I can reach with ease!
Desire, Ecstasy, Agony!
Joy, Bliss, Burn!
The fire seems to consume the moth.
People laugh and say- "Why?"
Why did she fly so close?
Didn't she know?
Didn't she understand it could kill her?
At sunrise, I am barely alive.
The cold ashes of the morning cover me like a shroud for the dead.
The fire is no more. My wings are burned beyond repair.
The ground where I lay will become a grave,
And if I can not fly, to one day again reach the fire,
Then I may as well be dead.
As my senses fade,
I try to remember the Flame.
It was all that I loved,
All I ever desired...