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The headlong rush of moth to candle's flame
is understood by very few but he.
A fly, entrapped within the spider's game,
will come to rue his loss of liberty.
Why is it that we seldom can foretell
the sad conclusion of our errant ways?
Do pheromones control us with their smell,
ensnaring us within a perfumed haze?
No longer does the scent of you hold fast
the chains which bound my once impulsive heart.
These insubstantial dreams must now be cast
aside—there'll be no tears as I depart.
Watch as this moth evades the deadly light
and fades into the refuge of the night.
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Author Notes
Thanks for reading.
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©
Copyright 2024.
CD Richards
All rights reserved.
CD Richards
has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |
