Abstract and magical image of flying moths.

Like a Moth to a Flame

I am to him,
like a moth to a flame.

I fly heedless of the danger
to his brilliance, again and again.

My wings flutter faster and faster frantic
with my desire to touch him, even as my heart burns.

Like a moth outside a window,
I beat myself against the unseen barrier.

My body bruised and broken,
my spirit drives me on.

His fantastic light draws me closer still,
I taste bitter tears as my soul begins to burn.

I flutter helpless to the ground,
battered by my futile drive.

As life’s breath softly leaves me
I cannot help but gaze into the light.

Soft hands hold my soul
fluttering and exhausted.

My heart dreams
I am warm.

Talking to my old friends, I couldn’t begin a sentence that would refer to Peter without the listener saying something like “Stop! …if this has anything to do with Peter I don’t want to know.” He hurt everyone in my life with all of the pain he brought to me — but some small part of me will always have love for him. I remember once saying to him that either he was the most evil man I’d ever met, or he loved me more than I could understand. I’d walk away when my soul had burned too much and each time I returned to him the warmth was there to welcome me. No quarter asked, none given. I hope he will find peace in his life before it is over. (Original Text June 1998)

(Added May 2001) Peter died on April 16, 2001 after a significantly long struggle of body and spirit; Now he has peace, now HE is warm.

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