Fatal moth went flying,
flying through the night,
nightly through the dark,
darkly t’wards the light.
Light pulled like a magnet,
magnetic north, it called,
called the blind to follow,
follow, one and all.
All the moths flew vainly,
vainly t’wards the moon,
mooning for her touch,
touched since the cocoon.
Cocooning through the day,
daily grey moths sleep,
sleep until the moon rise,
rises them to fleet.
Fleet from grey bark nest,
nestled in the brush,
brush dust from their wings
in the frantic rush.
Rush to this new light,
alight on candle’s flame,
flame dancer writhe and fall,
fall and end the game.
#69
Linda Studley 
I echo Karen’s compliments. The form really makes this. Imbues it with a dancing and short-sighted desire. Love it
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Thank you for your kind words and thank you for taking the time to comment. 🙂
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Is this an established form or did it just come to you? I like the way it goes around and around in conjoined circles, some big, some sm all. Good job, little sister:D
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If it is an established form I’m not aware of it, but I’ve reinvented the wheel before and I’ll probably do it again! It just sort of started that way, possibly because I liked the rhythm and hoped to continue it. Thanks for stopping in, Sis!
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This is lovely. Sounds like a tragic Celtic ballad. See, yesterday, nada-nada-nada, but you still put the pen to paper and perservered. And then today – what a reversal of fortunes, you have uncovered a gem. Gives me the incentive I need to haul my sorry carcass off to the pool, my perserverance challenge. Later, Gator!
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Thanks Cynthia. Yep, somedays it’s diamonds, somedays is big, ugly chunks of carbon, just a matter of biding time and applying pressure.
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