I
I want you
in all the ways a moth wants the sun;
I crave your heat and light, too.
To drink your shine, to never be done.
And I like your way,
the freckle in your walk,
how you shine -though burning- sky’s day
with the things I hear you talk.
And your ever-fixed route
from east to west,
things poets sang about on their lutes
and to you I leave the rest.
And the way how easy you seem
to dream.
II
Your skin so emboldened
resemble a silent radiance,
which paint me in dirt-golden
with all its darker gradients.
Flames devouring the wood,
stealing my empty breath,
as I stand in the soot;
As the heating reds wreath.
And burning as bright as its space,
-just like your eye flies-
your soul seems to burn a trace,
everywhere your eye lies,
of a passion, of a heart wrench, of a salience,
of a radiance.
III
Like a moth to a flame!
You are precious flesh;
You‘ve always been known to bane
and I build myself every time from you afresh.
Anxiously, I feel you before I see
and it hurts (so much burning) the closer I get.
I want you before I can be
and I can never forget.
But the moth seems superior.
The moth would fly.
The moth who is a warrior;
The moth that can get by and happily die!
My back still bleeds lacking wings,
you up there with all the kings.
IV
I’m still dreaming, am I not?
The sky’s too clear and the stars too bright.
I haven‘t forgotten your lot
Only to dream beside your light!
My bed teaches me to say :
this is what it feels like to dream,
and the cushions and blankets lay,
muffling my nightmarish scream.
The light of my stars;
big bright, this shining light,
this you that my night sky scars.
I wish, I would, I might.
My dreams, my nights have turned white
and on the canvas center: light.
V
So you still dream at night?
You look at the glow-in-the-dark stars
on your ceiling’s land lord white
and think not of prison bars?
You make a wish upon one of them
and dream of that soothing star?
You know, where I come from,
you only dream of your scars.
This bliss of which you dream;
I want to be part of that shine,
embedded into your seam,
part of your divine
I would always wish upon you over my,
the brightest burning star in my sky.
VI
Like a moth to the sun-
I get burnmarks in great depth
and holed wings by your handguns.
I cannot help myself.
Like a moth to the sunny.
I only wish for a taste of the divine,
help me,
Still I lay here and believing my lie.
I begged you to let me taste of your light
or the feeling of your warmth
and I swore to fight
but I wonder what of it was not performed.
I pray to let me know my error
or to put an end to my wingless terror.
VII
Warmth goes fast
and hope loses quick,
as long the winters last,
that’s the world’s biggest trick.
Ending unmendable,
without joy, nor pain,
happily undesirable,
nothing ever to gain.
That’s all I have known;
that’s all I have been,
another shard to be thrown,
another cut for my grin.
Can’t you see me crippling?
Is anyone out there listening?
VIII
My mind monstrously filled,
what a dangerous place to live,
under a heretic’s dreams built,
to survive was my only strive.
Steps eternally descending,
through the looking glass,
lost on all my defending,
till you reach a place to rest in the grass.
Between the peace lilies,
drenched in my blood,
the numb against the pain loses;
my heart fighting for every thud.
And if my heart stops I’ll have none
but till then I only know how to run.
IX
I want it to last all the same:
the musing, the loving, the writing;
everlasting burning on your flame,
like the burning on my writhing.
The plan is to put it out;
to put it out, with at least my heart
still in place and beating loud,
with a pair of my eyes.
To witness the radiance
that breaks over my clothes,
on the wood, that dances,
that attracts the moths,
that grows the seams,
that weaves the dreams.
X
I don’t want to stay behind;
I want to kiss your shadow.
To grow around to be found but
in the end you only find
the wounded skin I’ve been shedding,
find me falling out like snow.
And see confidence
and easiness in the path chosen,
and see courage
and fullness in the inspiration you disposed.
Radiance, what beautiful days
to have lived and walked under you.
Could I write another poem, about moths around lights that play?
I should sleep and lay my falling to the rest.
I look at the twilight horizon,
I see the sun at dusk, and walk my path.