Moth-Light
©January 19th, 2018
By Vijaya Sundaram
On late spring days, or early summer,
Moths stream in like dust-motes.
Born of moonlight and darkness,
They eat everything in sight.
I shudder in horror
And slam the door
In my haste to get in,
To keep them out.
For, while I like butterflies
(alas, the bias of the sighted),
I care little for their flat-winged
Dull, rapacious cousins.
Like thieves in the night,
They get in, anyway,
And beat themselves senseless
Against a cruel light-bulb.
I look up, and see them
Reaching blindly for light,
In mad, unrequited passion.
They must know they’ll die.
Surely, they must!
I look up, and see them
Plunging lustfully into light,
And feel a pang of recognition.
__________________________________________