Moth Dreams

Counting beats of the moth’s wing
hidden here is the truth to which we cling,
the taste of rain lures us into a dream
where souls of the night softly sing.

As opaque white ghosts they seam,
nocturne butterflies caught in moons gleam,
the drink our sorrows and sip our tears,
let your thoughts drift down the stream.

In our slumber we travel through years,
within shadows all is not as it appears
beauty may adapt a more subtle shade,
just breath in and exhale your fears.

Luna angel dawns hues of jade,
light cuts the darkness like a blade,
weep not for loss of temporal bliss
the veil lifts and our phantasm begins to fade

Soul Collectors

There are those that depend
upon the sun, they cling around
its edges, afraid of losing sight of it,
plastered against it, they follow
wherever it goes, trusting only
its light to lead their way,
and when it begins to stretch
far out of the reach of their eyes
they are rendered paralyzed,
and like the shadows find a way
to vanish.

And there are the more daring ones
who navigate by the stars,
entrusting their bodies to those
celestial lights which burn through the night,
over womb-like, yet often hungry,
devouring seas they follow these
ghosts of the sky, reminders of pale
gaslights, they beckon home.

But this is nothing to the often neglected
ones who give themselves over to the
borrowed light of the moon,
they are the collectors of souls,
and eaters of sorrows,
upon their backs they carry
the dust of dreams
how closely they dance with death,
how strangely fragile they appear
for all the mysteries which
they carry away to bury
beneath unmarked graves.

Beauty of Moths

Few people understand the beauty of moths,
ghost-like they drink upon our sorrows
sipping the nectar of the moonlight,
messengers of Morpheus they carry dreams
and nightmares.