Moth

A mark; A whisper
A prophetic force
Drawn into the maelstrom  
Attached for purpose
Spreading lies that only death foretold
Uncanny
Sumptuous but unkind
Fettered, yet unhinged  
We breed moths with piety
They flit into the night
Gathering only the light
Whilst the darkness fouls the tips of their wings
Jewelled Yule moon
Moist blasphemy  
The wiseman was fooled  
Into believing His way is rhapsodized  
Overwrought and florid
I am my own beneath His cover
They mock the walk of individuality
Their sodality bleeds normality
Flourish outside these four walls
Chisel away at the facade
 
Dust forms, now, on my fingertips
I have yet to feel heaven