Loneliness is the Grounded Moth

-Loneliness is the grounded moth that wears his fabric wide and long

Himself, alone, in his cocoon of echoed thought

Tailored are the morose-grey suits in which he stalks

yet hemmed to stand and sit and walk

Tragedy is the thing without wings that divinity breathes

Struck pale with wretched avail

And falling, falling damned back down to the Earth-

 

-Loneliness is the drought sea that has no shore

Schools of leering fish, replaced by abandoned warships nevermore

Resting gently in the newly scorched sand

Where used to be waves of bluest rage

Are now the relics and victims of man-

 

-Loneliness is a God who whispers only to stir the winds

A deity praying to himself for a memory’s inkling of a world without bend

His rusty chariot whistling through the clouds, above an Earth at its end

Splitting through trees with their hooves, testaments old and new galloping ahead of him

Leaving in their wake, a revelation that has come and gone

That all he is anymore are the eons; alone with Death itself to mourn-