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.
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