The Moth in Fire

[onacarom]

The Moth in Fire

His movement was continuous
for him
everything was a moment
and more than living
he was burning
with the strength
of a demented castaway
that swims even on earth

There was no night
There was no day
everything happened
as if it had been written
by a hand
that transformed past
in the web of a spider
that never released his steps

His movement was continuous
for him everything was a loss
even of that he would never have
impulse that throws the moth
against the light that seems a refuge
but that makes it become a flame
become a flame