Moth To A Flame Poem by Mark Heathcote

This is why she's like a beautiful moth to a flame.
Through a crack, a hole in a dividing wall
She's breaking down all my internal barriers.
Like a fledgling bird learning to fly
Like a whisper on a soothing tropical breeze
A butterfly jettisoned glides on by.
She snuck on through my heart's window unknowingly.
With a fiendish-honeyed voice, unafraid to speak.
Feeding beasts with an all-consuming love
'Black thunder' for me, her endless yearnings and sobs.
 
Where the lightning is conceived
She gardens a blooded red rose.
Wanting to be a bursting white star
'Black Thunder'—'black thunder, '
Thisbe's voice spoke of her ongoing living torture.
It awoke a wolf in these woods.
She took root in the darkest nooks and crannies of my heart.
And shone, shone a torch, a light.
That made me hunger and thirst for this life.
'Black thunder' She was-

The reason my heartbeat beat once again
Like a drum, she was the reason my ears bled.
It reverberated like two clashing cymbals.
Listening to the ice beneath my feet slowly break.
But it is sure funny how her mulberry
Flavoured, stolen kisses
Unveiled on both sides of the moon
Like a spinning Christmas bauble
And I, her bewitched, how I lay, lay,
Lay still in the darkness, inconsolably waiting to be consumed.

This suicide is for fools, not me or you.
Thisbe, you're like a beautiful moth to a flame.
You just can't let your love be confined.
Whatever the pain, whatever the shame
You can never avoid that living flame.
This be, you're like barbwire an animal trap,
But I can't bite off a limb or put up a fight.
Thisbe, let's make the lightning dance tonight.
And die when there's nothing left to hate or spite.
This means my internal barriers are all but dead and gone.
It's now time to love, dream, and circle the moon.
This isn't a moment too soon?