Be there more beauty held in one’s own eye
When God has taken the colour from the sky?
Should we flutter in light, a shade with no name,
‘Til we’re burnt by love - like a Moth and Flame?
‘Twas with this beauty that he turned blind,
Her beauty, in turn, left not her lips nor mind.
They loved in dreams, but their fate couldn’t be:
For she couldn’t speak and he couldn’t see.
Thus sang he once of bread and wine,
When sight returned, but no image divine.
And a prayer, found scribbled in a book:
For she who didn’t speak and he who didn’t look.
And just the same, I heard her sing
With the smell of a burning soul or wing,
“Be it us, not God, whom the sky should blame! ”
That age old song of a Moth and Flame.
Ella Veyes
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/of-moths-and-flames/
