The Moth

The once was a moth.
No one likes moths.
It was always attracted to the light.
But it always got burned.
So it had no feeling left.

Then the moth saw a special light.
One that didn't burn.
One that saw the moth as a butterfly.
The moth began to feel again.
And it was happy and safe.

Then the light began to change.
The light started to see the moth as a moth.
The light felt tricked.
It wanted nothing to do with the moth.

The moth hurt from the light's burns.
It had started believing it could be a butterfly.
But it was not meant to be.

The moth insisted it could change.
It could be a butterfly.
But it didn't matter.
The light shut itself off from the moth.

The moth was devastated.
It hurt worse than the other times.
The moth wanted to fly close to the sun.
Like Icarus with the wax wings.
It was too far away.

The moth despaired.
It decided it would be better off as snow.
Cold and pure, lovely and wicked.
The moth could numb itself.

So the moth flew to the north.
It's limbs and wings grew heavy.
The cold was taking its toll.
The moth couldn't move.