JUDGE A FLAME BY IT'S MOTH

love poem

A frantic flapping of wings,

feelers flexing -

body pressed sensuously

against a cold unyielding pane,

feet cloying repeatedly,

 endlessly...

             in vain.

 

 Flame -

austerely ascending

to a pinnacle of yellow

now orange light,

cascading down

in shadows of

blueish-grey

            vermillion.

 

I,

on this side

of a vast blue ocean

leaning, passionately meaning 

to burn by you again. 

Saved - by a dead sea -

this too unyielding pain

                      of light.

 

 

You,

striving ever higher

to an ascending spiritual plataeu,

untouched -

by this same fire

that feeds your eternal flame -

the one I so

                     desire...

 

PP Sept. '10