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The moth will rail against the light, beat wings to fracture glass or extinguish flame; life surrendered, uncomprehending, and yet it loves the light. The bat will fly against the night, serrated form cleaving scars on lunar face; beating a path, no understanding, and yet it loves the night. I have raged against your light, sallied words to wreak hurt, to issue pain; yet without reason, now I realise, for, true, I love your light.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2005

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