Thought-Moth Of The Imagination 2 Poem by C Richard Miles

It began, merely a small dot,
New-laid fresh green on a white leaf.
Hatching hesitantly, the ink grub
Of an idea tentatively crept out
And started to explore its landscape.

Chewing up pre-pulped fat plugs
Of pre-masticated recycled paper
The larva greedily expanded
To a fat caterpillar of scribble
Extending well over a half-leaf.

Soon inspiration stalled and lost strength
And halted the plump-phrased pupa
To cocoon itself in the warm glow
Of cotton-wool soft self-praise
To hibernate away from the hard world.

After its strained metamorphosis
Inordinately lengthy and drawn-out
The thought-moth emerged, dull brown
And not at all shiny and showy,
A poor reflection of its past self.

Only in flight a few seconds,
Tailed by a ravenous critic,
Armed with sharpness of hawk-beaks
Honed to incisive perfection,
Moth ceased its mayfly existence.