The Moth Poem by Gert Strydom

Last night against the enclosed lamp
it did in disillusion flutter and flaps its wings
trying it's utmost to get in
to the scorching deadly hot light
as if somehow it was afraid of the darkness
of the night
as if there was something deadly to it
and to me that poor brown moth was ugly
but to its own kind probably very pretty
yet this scene did draw a sad picture to it

and again here in the twilight
while the sun is rising bloody-red
later stretching out its rays like fingers
it's again fluttering and flapping against the window
with the same disillusion
trying to reach the sun.

While I do open the window to set it free
it comes to me
that each one of us in a way
tries to find an own place in the sun,
do want a life of bliss and happiness
and always somehow destiny does come
with its own ways that do set life
into the direction that it's going.