Gypsy moths travel across my yard,
Heading toward the sapphire light on the porch,
One after another, no change, no regret,
Making same mistakes, year upon year upon year,
As if lured in by a magnet, drifting toward the final stages.
Lessons learned and forgotten. Willpower trite and unyielding.
Feeling transparent, I hide beneath the covers,
Diving deep into a false life of sleep,
Feeling secured until past realities seep in,
No means to distinguish silver from skeletons,
Until the morning softly filters through my blinded eyes.
Hours pass like seconds. Colors blend like potions.
Bound for change, I wake to a novel approach:
Experimenting against chaos and fear,
Listening to words, watching for symbols,
And believing the motives from above,
With only hope tearing from my eyes.
Parallels flourish my serenity.