The Moth

You are like the moon, whose shimmers can only be felt;
Touching you is a distant dream.

And I’m like a pebble, stepped over by passersby;
Maybe a part of you, yet an overlooked and outcasted thing.

A dog never catches a running car; I’m as worthless as him.
Still I dream of you, I’m the mad king!

I can be the moth, jumping into the dancing flames, burning all night for you.
For everything else is false-only the fire in you seems true.



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