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Submitted on
February 19


785 (2 today)
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       fluttering ghosts
       of dreams long gone
       dead and passed –
       and past.

       They ache for the love
               of light
       but their blind groping
               for the truth

                       Burns them.

In the end,
       all moths die
       as Icarus –
       as infantile projections
       of our innocence
                       as hope too, dies at last.
I hate moths. >_<

Blame AbsolvedJudas for this.
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I love the indentations and set up of the poem overall. There is an introduction as well as a closing to the poem which I like. I also enjoy the perspective you have of the moth. I have never thought of this creature in the light that you put it in here -passed dreams and "fluttering ghosts". The fact that moths desire light and that they cannot see it without burning is the sad truth. I appreciate the Icarus reference which is completely original in my opinion. The fact that his dream died just as moths, resembling dreams, also die. In the last two lines the poem seems more depressing, but still eye-opening. Throughout the entire poem I have a clear image in my head, which I find unique to my past thoughts of the moth. It also gives me an almost nostalgic feeling.
Thank you.
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breath taking. really good. i love moths! lol but very pretty :)
so true... hope dies last
Gosaku Feb 27, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Moths are not grabbing for truth, they want survival and warmth. Ironically, their need for life and their want for comfort is a deception. I feel as if that, when you say "I hate moths, " you're continuing your poem.
Chuckles. Probably why I made the association. I've written many poems on hating hope.
Gosaku Mar 29, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Your work feels less depressing than you seem to be depressed. It's always pleasing in looking at it, and not picking it apart, because it feels as if every placement of every word is very intentional. I must, therefore, wonder about the intention of common--and uncommon--exchange of conversation that you engage in, and your realization and awareness to the infinitesimal consequences of them. That is a mouthful of a sentence, but an honest one.
Surely, you must notice the lack of simple relation of this comment to your's and to this poem, because it's really not for that. I suppose I just want to know more about how you regard yourself and your works, because they're just so damn good.
:tighthug: I work hard when I write, usually. Thank you. 

As for my awareness, its high. My psychotherapists have told me that my understanding of others and my desperation not to hurt them has in itself become a mental illness. :P

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