I can see orange flickering street lights
A million moths under each of them;
poor souls tempted into bright sunflower
the heat passes on as they delve in,
straining their wings and eyes on,
for something they wished they got
and for once thought was theirs.
The light bulb gains strength; brighter
it lights up the streets- humans and dogs walking below,
the spot where it falls on the road is warm,
where a homeless crouches, coughing and leaving his dreams to soil, rot.
The light moths haven't quit, given up
They, as adamant as before lunges at the sunflower,
the heat pounces back on this little fella,
he is tortuously burnt.
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'My dorsel tufts hurt; the body squirms and I fall down,
to a soft lap; the homeless's lap.
I am flicked off but, to a colder, wetter darker place (he had strength to do that!)
I am baffled helpless and dying. I know that.
I twist and turn, plundered by pain
an ant crawling to taste to me- the food for him.
Then i say, 'dear friend, I were you, once upon a time and then I got wings, which landed me here'.
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Did this make any sense? It better not have.
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