I’ve thought that every candles moth
Was, perchance, better for his place
Though ecstasy was short for death
He was inflamed consumed in grace.
Now candles all but styled out
At least, or aren’t outside at all.
That is why the outer lights
Are rapt with moth to crash and crawl.
And I have heard the passionate
Who sing that love is like a fire
If that is the truth of it
Perhaps our tale is moth-inspired.
For many soar to capture love
And only find a bulb to catch.
I’d like to think I’d leave the porch
Pursue a lighter, or a match.
Yet each these fires last but a time
Until they’re blown, or dwindle out.
Should virtue likewise follow suit?
A tool for time to fool about?
No. Let me be unsatisfied.
If I’m a moth, a moth am I.
I will not linger through each loss
But chase the fires in the sky.
Though physics binds me ever far,
What is love, but chasing stars?