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Youths eyes oversee truth Captained by a world of hatred Too young yet too old A thin line of reality “To me, the greatest pleasure of writing is not what it's about, but the inner music that words make.” Truman Capote

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Another Poem

Well, first one thing: I forgot one movie from my list. Gladiator! Such a fantastic performance by Russel Crow and fantastic cinematography!

The poems that I am posting are ones which were inspired by a sign given to me by Fate. Yes it does sound odd but hey I'm pretty much pagan and a fatalist.

Remember the Moth

Silken touch
Dusting the skin with velvet feet
Tip-toeing onto my hand
Wings painted in rings of dull grey
Remember the moth
Mysterious nocturnal angel
Dancing in the light
Fluttering with the hands of death
Controversial butterfly
Tainted with spite and darkness
Hidden from the sun
Innocence of night
Fly home


The moth returns to her cage
After being seduced by his light
Letter her delicate wings
Be encased in the gleam
It flickered then went out
Vanished from site
The moth fell
Tumbling through dangerous air
Seconds drew on like ages
Dust settled on her falling body

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