As a Moth To Flame

Like the dust upon a moths wing: our thoughts of good before love. Love: that fabled flame draws our fragile wings and soft belly, to burn in passion flash. The feelers we've followed unerringly melting first before the all powerful onslaught. We come out: unknowing before, as gold gilded eagles. Soaring high on joy's thermal. Lifted far above the world and it's calamities but we perceive all. And guide those still mired in the clay of their creation. Our feathers glint in the sun: as a wink from the son. The wings of our new abodes only tiring when heart has it's fill. A razor like beak now leads: cutting between flesh and bone, the blood red earth, and it's heart of stone.