The Moth Knows

Littered leaves, seeds and keys
So soon the sun sets
Another day to another year
Golden browns and radical reds
Set the tone of adventures to come

Future reflections and past regressions
A little introspection
Whilst the ancient maples say their prayers
The birds sing sweetly their bitter retire.

As the dew, frosts, so do I
In preparation of the winter’s
Deathly presence.

Subtly felt
As the sun retreats behind the clouds
A taste, only a sample
The fight to come

As the lazy squirrel frantically gathers
The nuts left behind, deemed previously unworthy
I ponder the choice.

In my left hand , a key
To a mansion of sorts,
filled with man’s every desire
fame and fortune,
permanent artificial heat.

And in my right,
A dying moth.
Only just dipped a toe, in the raging rivers of life
Has brought the vessel to peace.

If it could only begin to comprehend,
it’s brief period,
here on earth.

Would it fight?
Or would it still rest, growing motionless
As the great light distances.

The truth all but apparent,
to those who seek it.

The moth knows.