In a flurry of white wings
He rises higher
Higher
Higher
Until the light touches his face
And its heat scorches his cheeks.
Rays of gold adorn him
Like the richest of emperors,
Reflecting against his body
Like the sun against the moon.
His whole being grows hotter
Until he is drawn so close
The light burns him.
And finally he falls,
Away from the fluorescent bulb,
His wings scorched through.
Icarus was a moth
Who flew too close to the lights.
His wings weren't feathered
And when he fell,
No one noticed his pale body
Against the concrete floor.
Such is the life of a moth,
To strive for light
Only to fall
To irrelevance.
Author's note: I'm forever surprised that Icarus and moths aren't often connected! How often do you get a kid and an animal who both fly too close to lights and die? This is the first poem in my "things that should symbolize other things" series: Moths and Icarus, the same symbol of foolishness and naivety.
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Trillium Beneath the Pines: An Original Poetry Compilation
PoetryA compilation of my poems, many of which explore the cyclical nature of the world: life and death, day and night, and the seasons.
