Moth Elegy

I.

How impatiently do I take life's lessons
Spoon after spoon, in mouth again?
It is sojourned, a cycle of measure
Whereby stands before a ladder betwixt.
That which divides soft heat of the evening
Is a roof that I should hope to ascend,
O' sweet corpulentia, seraphine evening
Forever, definitively, makes amends.

II.
A sentient master opens his book
Whereupon I graze listlessly upon its bound spine,
Amongst its blank pages, a pitter-patter
As I continue trailing nothing behind.
And much like the courier with his sachet of letters,
Uncertain- his foot holding finds no peace,
How precisely he delivers of that unknowingstly,
A duty kempt with incorrigible ease.

III.
And still the mystery one delivers
Stains the palms with chimerical ink,
O' what qualms progress from days of naivety!
Still, I am spoon-fed by the ageless rind!
Uneasy is the fledgling mouth which
Distracts fresh thought with movement.
Pitter-patter,
Trailing nothing behind.

IV.
The solitude of human action
Trots lightly like the cupboard moth,
Its diaphanous wing bathed in solace
Chary as not to shed its dust.
For it is the cupboard moth who seeketh the flame
Despite the flame be not the sun,
It leaves no trace for I beseech
The journey long be quite my own.

V.
How austere the world for newborn moths
Who cling to bulbs with no effect,
And tedium clings also to the poet
Who suffers near drearily, the dimness of light.
It flickers and flaps from the poet's own candle
The effect be most gentle save obscurity to sight.
As wax curls the wick in dulcet waves of a shoreline
I continue trailing nothing behind.