Moth Wings

Her papery wings

Translucent white of innocence long lost

Carrying her to the place beyond

Where irony’s served as the daily meal

To her living hell, Elysian Fields


It’s the blind leading the blind

The delusional guiding the delusional

Stuck in the void between

The horrid past and an unpalatable present

Each pulling this way and that

Dealing out their own hand of reality


Of only sixteen Southern summers,

Her gauzy wings discovered the light

Blinding, all too complete

Suddenly her sight was cleared

He gave her that guiding light

That utter compulsion to gravitate

Towards him, into quicksand

Into the alien flame that left her



Never again that burning

Never again love

Never again any blinding light

Just the bottom of Pandora’s box: hope

Fragile cocoons self-fabricated

Glittering with make-believe

But it spiced up life, gave her reasons

To take the streetcar named Desire, not Death.


But phony magic never lasts

Just as a rose will always wilt

The truth, naked reality, resurfaced

Like a tin can dragging a kite’s silk tail

Brutal men in a man’s world

Brutal fists choking up her dreams

Mercilessly dashing her

From the cleft of rock she wished to hide in


The blues, the blues of her soul

Drifted down New Orleans’ streets

As she, blue with sorrow

Struggled in her Della Robia blue shirt

The colour of the Virgin

Worn by a oxymoron

Whose name meant ‘pure’, the purest white

Whose soul was tainted



The End

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