Moths in Space

A poem

Aug 5, 2019 · 1 min read
Which are the stars, and which are their paparazzi?

The stars hold my gaze.
They wink and sparkle
and burn ablaze.
My atoms: moths
knocking each other askew
in a whirlwind rocket
to the modest moon.

But it’s being afar
that makes bright beautiful.
The sun is a star
that will eat you whole
if you get too close.
So we learn:
don’t touch the stove.

Be a flower, or a tree.
Reach for the warmth,
light and energy,
but keep your roots
in the cool shade of soil.
Grow up with ambition;
grow deep from turmoil.

The top-heavy only tumble;
The heavy-rooted never fly.
So you see,
there’s significance in our scars;
only humans lose their way
while reaching for the stars.

Follow Chelvis for moar weird love.


Written by


A ghost renting some bones. Here to make you grin/giggle/groan/guffaw.

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