Wings of the Moth

Each thought is pulled down by gravity to the ground,
for no matter how high our pilot mind attempts to fly
it will find its matter unsuitable for the purest sky.

Wise words are shadow memories whether written or said
and rivers sweep away the speeches carved upon their bed,
forgotten fragments of a life lived alone inside the head

Heroes, gods, and goddesses reflections of a distant time
wanted to be eternal, but just survive as scholarly signs
victory without living heart, achievement that time forgot.

And so we became desperate for technology to us acquire
to speak into wires and sacrifice for fame our true desire:
for wings of the moth chase the most violent of the fires.

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