WD ( / )

The Moth

Fly, you dull beauty;
Dance around the fire.
Burn, you bright beauty;
Entice the moth closer.

Fatal passion drives you wild;
Nearer, nearer to the flame.
Mad possession grips your mind;
Farther, farther away from shame.

That altar of love, warm and bright;
Longing, longing for your coming.
That altar of love, such wondrous sight;
Waiting, waiting for your offering.

At last, the die is cast;
For near is near enough.
You moth, you dull beauty;
You flame, you bright beauty;
Have done what has to be done.
And the sweet stench of death,
Brought bitter taste of life.

by Walter Dapliyan

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