They call them mockingbirds, some are nightingales, a few may be owls or ravens,
but all are really pretending to be the pursuers
while they are in fact the ideal prey.
All are moths-
of which there are more than 160,000.
Drawn to their own demise, despite the heat, they repeat the fire dance,
a Danse Macabre in verse.
In all fairness, one should be warned-
1. You will never be good. Or done. Or get there. Never, nevermore. It will always be wrong, could be better, you should have never tried, a waste of your time, a sacrifice for nothing. If you want to feel a sense of completion or accomplishment, this is not the way. You will never be able to make it go away. Get a drawer, carry a pen, try to forget.
2. You have only copied others far better than you-who copied those that were far better than they.
All the words that are strewn about and unsorted,
the ones you polished up and put together and
something spectacular, or smooth, or morbid,
were not yours to put your name on.
You were not the first person
to make your bed.
3. Warning: Also-they All die beautiful, decrepit and anonymous, poor and misunderstood. They pass away, they are evoked and manipulated, worshiped for saying one thing-over and over-apropos to those who know how timeless interpretations remains. They keep their keys. They take thier fortunes with them. The published, finished, are boarded up, condemned-to looting, pillaging and squatting.
The moth never learns from others smoke. The moth must devour the leaves and petals from poets of other seasons if it is to survive famished and cleansed by morning dew.
Some say violets capture a certain raw nature, many others pine over roses, and there are those of silk, that bare no resemblance to prose, without punctuation or stamen.
4. The night is shared by good and bad voices, loudest to those who listen.
5. Color is not necessary for presenting a beautiful display. Light and heat are most attractive when removed.
6. A moth is a critical link in the food chain.
Fake eyes, ink stains, shadow, ash and dirt colored, clicks and sonar are extra like lyricality. Both predator and prey are symbiotic as reader and writer, both flock to the light despite the smoke and despite the act of dying every night.
Painting By Michel Bouillon, Vanitas c. 1668 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
