Among the human abodes
the skin of the sky is yellowed
and there are no stars to be seen,
so the urban moths chasing their dreams
don’t bother strengthening their wings
and sink down to the stucco houses below.
They flit and flutter
by porch lights
and look in windows;
hitting the glass
and congregating by the electricity.
The big humans
see them like little leeching pests,
ugly things marring the “calm”
of the electricity.
So they place the
zapping light outside,
among the good warm lights.
Moth after moth
trying to reach the brightest of the bright
is attracted to the palest blue
and zapped out of eternity.
If only they could have known the stars,
a healthy midnight blue sky,
had that stellar light
imprinted on their souls
and had the strength to reach the sky.
I used the prompt from Magpie Tales, not my art