The Moth and the Flame

The moth and the flame
is a story old,
And one about lovers
often told

From the center of my world
your flame burns bright,
A beacon of hope,
bringing warmth and light

And I
in erratic circles fly,
Drawn irresistibly,
yet – never knowing why 

But reason isn’t the issue here
nor years spent in vain attempt
Only the consuming need
driven far beyond contempt

 By what right do we seek the flame?
the alter of loves funeral pyre,
Casting ourselves in madness blind,
to be consumed – by the raging fire 

I ask – by what madness are moths
and lovers driven?
Comes the answer – only God knows,
but sanity is not a reason given

                                                        this