Deliberation

A moth,
with cream colored wings,
and of little significance,
found its way into my bedroom.

Unaffected by the blazing light,
the torches attached to my ceiling fan,
he settled himself
against the white blouse below my bed.

I have stolen his expression.
I have ripped it from him with my pen.

He strives to be pure and silent,
echoing in abundance of character,
and prolonging his life
in un-mothlike behavior.

We are twins, much alike, he and I.
We do not beat against the light with angst,
surrendering to the hold
of a lightbulb that
glows of apathy and indifference.

We strive to find the comfort,
untaintedness, and hospitality,
of a soft blouse,
while others are restless,
hurling themselves into the rigid hands
of a merciless blaze
that never yeilds with tenderness.