The Moth

The moth, she knows the flame will burn
But back again, again she comes,
Her velvet collisions dress the air,
Sparkling against these tempting embers
Where she throws herself over and over
Upon the most flickering of fascinations,
Such senseless self-immolation 
Strips her to a carapace, 
Leaving her scorched, naked, undressed, undone, 
Beneath the tragic unravelling of her world.

addictiondeathloveMothnaturepoempoetrypunishment

◄ Should We Walk By?

Battle of One ►

Comments

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Laura Taylor

Fri 8th Apr 2016 13:57

Phwoar - THIS is a line! Her velvet collisions dress the air.

Love it.

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Stu Buck

Fri 8th Apr 2016 10:33

really enjoyed this. its wonderfully gothic and sensual, and reminds me a lot of the hg wells story of the same name, in tone rather than content. taken metaphorically, as a poem about a woman in the throws of love, or literally as a description of a moths futility, its excellent and actually works both ways, a clever thing indeed. i am smitten. some great lines too. velvet collisions. lovely.

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