The Moth Always Burns


Painting imaginary dreams
Waiting for the shining moment
the applause is palpable
A posthumous figment of your memory

What will become of me
Lost between the lines and dots
Will I get to see you,
Jumping on fairy tales as you go?

Hammer sharp pain
Sensitive to the breath
the endless depth of silence
I end where you began, or is it the other way around

Flickering picture books
All those minutes just flying by
What will I cling to,
When I finally get to fly?

So much yearning
You'll never see me flinch
A moth only flies
In hopes of catching the flame.

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