The Moth and Flame
By John Herlihy

Who would begrudge the attraction of the moth to the flame?
Who would have the temerity to apportion any real blame?
The flickering light invades the darkness as a brave sentinel,
Keeping vigil with hope’s promise that borders on the seminal.
We are but moths, nocturnal beings, bravely seeking the light;
We abandoned cocoons in the earth, feeling skittish with fright.
Gypsy moths that pursue celestial navigation keeping them on course,
When they veer to left or right, they may spiral closer to the source,
Awash in the silvery rays cast off carelessly by the orb of the moon,
Even if in reaching up they spiral back down in a frightening swoon.

We are gypsy souls making our way down the highway of life,
Singing and dancing and frolicking with the antennae of insect life.
Like moths, we make no excuses in the endeavor to seek the light,
Once we have escaped the fragile cocoon that has held us tight.
Who would deny that in life we seek knowledge and insight?
Would anyone prefer to ignore the temptations of lunar flight?
Witness the moth that faithfully pursues its traverse orientation;
Listen to the moth that quietly makes its own wise proclamation.
Don’t be a brooder deep in thought, tapping your brow in rumination.
Be a moth, raise yourself up, fly on wings toward illumination.