Moths

Moths
Copy right Daran Pratt 2005





I watched the moth for hours
Till it spiraled to the light
Smoking its wings
And eternally ending it’s flight
And I wished I was warm
On the inside
Because it was getting cold
Outdoors with winter looming
Faster than a silent train.
I knew my thoughts could kill me
I just didn’t know
It would take so long
Or that I would bleed so much
And still have so much
To give.

It’s life, you know
And the bother
And strange smells are all
A part of the atmosphere
And the general hubbub of existing.
I’d like to say
I’d done my homework
And learnt the script,
But I’d be lying, I’m just faking it
Sometimes barely making it
And
Just like the moth
The things I am drawn to,
The things that seem the brightest
And that dazzle my eyes
Are usually the traps that
Ensnare me and claim my wings.

It’s this, that all too human condition
That enables me to do it
All over, time and again,
What makes me,
This me
Is that I’m learning to test
With the tip of my finger
Before I discard the wet paint sign
And curl up to sleep
Then wind up empty, homeless
And stuck fast to a freshly pastel
Painted bus seat.