In heaven, thunder is a hushed tone,
And the sun is a candle’s ember
Dying just to live on the end of its wick
For a few moments longer.
Me, a moth
Love, or a flame,
We starve for light
And bounce off its edge.
The moth, a charred body.
Me, a charred body.
It’s better to seek love’s luster
Than to flutter in the dark, after all.
Were I a moth, I’d be their king.
I’ve seen the jealous gods
Guard us from their flame,
I cleverly steal away.
So moth becomes man,
And I become winged,
And I will hurt you, kill you
For touching my light,
And pin you to cork with a needle
To show the world what happens
When a mindless creature
Thinks it’s god.
Nick is a senior philosophy/communication
major who is new to poetry, to being published,
and especially to having to write bios.