deepundergroundpoetry.com

Monarch And Moth

The�sun�is�the�phoenix
and�the�monarch�are�created
with�it's�falling�feathers
Those�orange�embers
cooling�sporadic,�black

Not�much�left�inflamed
from�the�stern�love
of�that�hot�headed�mother
Just�a�by�the�way,�here's�some
incidental�butterflies

Moths�are�the�chipped�pieces
fragments�of�the�moon
(Those�holes�in�it's�face
that�form�a�grimace)
Astral�concrete�caterpillars
that�confetti�dull,�down
until�the�night�air
softens�their�edges
into�frayed�wings
Enough�to�feign�flight
-More�like�fighting,�to�stay�afloat
in�a�dark,�heavy�sky

As�they�practice�in�the�false�acclaim
of�the�streetlights
mimicking�their�pretty�daytime�cousins
Those�spotted�butterflies
that�get�all�the�highlights
Those�monarchs,�those�winged�ballerinas
that�get�the�bright�blue�stage

Evening�is�a�curtain�though
when�skirting�near�the�night-shade�is�the�signal
for�the�loveliest�creatures�to�flutter�home
All�the�winged�cinderellas�must�go
As�the�maid-moths�appear
to�sweep�up�the�orange�dust
from�the�powdered�wings
of�their�haughty�cousins

There's�always�one�butterfly
that�refuses�to�exit
It�won't�let�go�of�the�sun
But�the�sun�must�go,�to�dote
on�the�other�half�of�earth
Where�its�half�children
creep�cold,�upon�the�shadowed�stems
under�a�flower,�until
their�own�version�of�tomorrow

Yet�still�on�this�here-side;
Evening�rain�drowns�random
and�that�defiant�monarch
too�dainty�to�dodge;
It�flails,�dies,�agrounded
It�couldn't�follow
the�away�applause�of�the�sun

The�moon�peeks,�shines�upon
those�downed�wet�wings
That�orange�and�black
that�mimics
where�day�battled�night
with�bullet�holes

Moth�picks�up�those�wings
and�covers�its�own�with�them
Like�false�eyelashes�on�a�plain�girl
-Admires�itself�in�the�window
of�a�store,�under�a�streetlight
Where�all�of�its�kin�frolic,
fooled�by�that�imitation�sun

The�now�orange�and�black-cloaked
moth�strains�to�fly
This�once,�it�will�wear�the�gown
Those�royal�colors�of�a�heralded�day

In�a�determined�struggle
it�aims�for�heighth
Just�to�glide�down
like�a�speckled�night�swan

The�moon�displays�disdain
with�a�smirk
unimpressed�with�stolen�glory
Though�the�moth�only�borrowed
what�is�common�to�some
To�make�a�simple�dream
into�spectacular�reality

Indifferent�to�such�drama
the�bat�swoops�down
and�snatches�the�impersonating�actress
-Tastes�like�moth

Yet�the�bat�eats
what�it�thinks
is�the�most�exotic�meal
it's�ever�known

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