SpaceFlare
insert custom title
This is the first one.
Light and the Moth
A moth lives in a world of shadows
Cast by the light around him
Light calls the moth near
Enticing it with its radiance
Promising a paradise to its helpless witness,
Like a siren that lures a sailor to his death
As the moth draws closer
The light shines brighter
Drawing forth foolish and weak
Hearts of the moths nearby.
All move closer
Fluttering slowly
Flapping their tiny wings
To the light which brings
No other reward
But Death itself.
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This next one has no title.
Sometmes we forget
How fortunate we are
That we have this gift
Of being where we are right now.
Time flies swiftly
So swiftly even
That we do not notice
How many ticks the clock has screamed
With each passing second
How many events we have sown
That dictates whether we live or not.
Even in olden archaic battles
Where some of our roots have clung to soil
On opposing sides of war
If one had by chance killed that of which you hold
Desperately to for existence
You may have never been born
Even in how a man could carry his life around.
If, let's say, one of your ancestors
Had tasted his own blood
From his waist blade from a plunge
That broke his heart
You may have never been born.
A life is spawned in each day particle
And a life may be taken in that same space
A single wrong turn may occur
Like driving headfirst into a storm
One solitary decision
And you might have never been born.
--------------
Enjoy.
Light and the Moth
A moth lives in a world of shadows
Cast by the light around him
Light calls the moth near
Enticing it with its radiance
Promising a paradise to its helpless witness,
Like a siren that lures a sailor to his death
As the moth draws closer
The light shines brighter
Drawing forth foolish and weak
Hearts of the moths nearby.
All move closer
Fluttering slowly
Flapping their tiny wings
To the light which brings
No other reward
But Death itself.
---------------
This next one has no title.
Sometmes we forget
How fortunate we are
That we have this gift
Of being where we are right now.
Time flies swiftly
So swiftly even
That we do not notice
How many ticks the clock has screamed
With each passing second
How many events we have sown
That dictates whether we live or not.
Even in olden archaic battles
Where some of our roots have clung to soil
On opposing sides of war
If one had by chance killed that of which you hold
Desperately to for existence
You may have never been born
Even in how a man could carry his life around.
If, let's say, one of your ancestors
Had tasted his own blood
From his waist blade from a plunge
That broke his heart
You may have never been born.
A life is spawned in each day particle
And a life may be taken in that same space
A single wrong turn may occur
Like driving headfirst into a storm
One solitary decision
And you might have never been born.
--------------
Enjoy.