My spirit insect.
Poetry by Vladimir Fischer
Photo by Aaron BurdenHire
“Cocooned and warmed…”
I’m in the state of waiting,
pacing like a moth
around the room;
a flickering light
remaining final beat of hope
and longing.
Shackles, cold metal,
heavy air exploiting lungs,
last summer, it felt better
being blind, no lie.
No care to mention loud
about whats boiling blood,
as I pretend to be alive
cocooned in love, affection
doubtedly deserving but
thankfully accepting.
Cocooned and warmed,
I’ve gone mellow on the inside,
but thorns now sharper outside;
a rose that’s rarely stood proud
but when it did, it shined so brightly.
Planted elsewhere for a while,
a rose will shine, again the same,
until it realizes that its all a smoke,
and the rose is just a pacing moth.
Poetry by Vladimir Fischer
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