The Moth and I

I was alone in the dark,

Or so I thought.

I felt something soft as a whisper,

Brush against my face,

Gentle and seeking.

I froze in fear

As I was blinded by the blackness.

It a place that only permeated despair

There seemed to be

Something as lost as I.

It landed upon my shoulder,

The only solid place it could see.

I could feel the frightened flutter

Of wings unsure

As it matched the twin trembling

Of my heart insecure.

It was a night moth,

Stranded in this dark.

It sensed in me a companion

In that abyss so stark.

Suddenly, a bright flame appeared,

Like a haven in a storm.

A glorious candle was burning

Its skirt of light,

Driving back the dark.

Towards it, we went,

The moth and I.

As I drew closer, I could see,

Not a candle of welcome warmth

But a fire of raging wrath.

I stopped, knowing no closer should I go.

It was a false light,

Full of bright promise and warmth

But it was cold and cruel,

In a false facade.

The moth left me,

Not heeding the truth.

To the fire it flew

And its death too true.

I watched in horror

And wept for the waste.

It was done in a moment,

All that fragile beauty lost.

I had seen this flame before

And knew it for what it was.