Moth

Poetry maybe my limitation of proper speech communication
Blundering time with riddles and facts
All a work and performance starts by an act
An act of companionship and care
As the one person I held dear took me and lifted me into the sky
And cried out on swooning tears, fly
Pages of boiling ink, scratched out notes, Jaunting graphite
Ghosts of erasers past wearing the typographical page thin
The sun warming the feathers and bristles of doodles and annotations and tear stains
A tissue paper mask of word filled art
Expressing just enough to be seen
But hiding enough to become cellophane
Throwing me to catch the misty rain in my crying storms
Kissing me to bite the anxieties engraved on my nails
Telling me to write away the inaccessible demons in my black inked blood
Lifting my wings of art, music, poetry, acts, journal entries and existence
To the moon and the sun and the stars
As you called out in your sparrow songs sweet voice
Fly moth, towards the moon
The globe of a lunacy hope and haven
For you are a moth that dreams of being a bird
And a bird is just a word that masks the meaning of who you are
And I see right past your mirror of cloth and hair of glass
And eyes of sapphire
I see you my bird
My mourning, magical, minuscule, merry, magnificent moth