Metaphor anyone?

Hi everyone,

Went out for the paper and discovered we’d left a light on. A moth was hanging onto the glass like a besotted guest from last night’s party. Put on your writer’s hat and find a metaphor in this picture. 20160807_093417_resized P.S. If my M.O.W. sees this picture, I’ll have to clean the glass. Please don’t tell her!

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13 comments on “Metaphor anyone?

  1. Moth on the Glass

    Of this old candle
    I’m quite fond;
    Riding to infinity
    And beyond.

    No more resting
    on a shelf,
    I’ll make a fine ash
    of myself.

    ©2016 Jane Yolen all rights reserved

  2. My Light

    My brave leader,
    unafraid
    to shine by day
    when other lights
    have all gone dim.

    Or else he’s old
    and absent minded,
    forgot he’s on.
    Well either way,
    I’m with him.

  3. I humbly submit:

    Fate of a Moth

    Too much light?
    Oh, can it be?
    I’m drawn to it,
    Let it swallow me!

    Too much light!
    How can I bear
    The weight of light?
    Yet I must dare.

    Too much light!
    I cling suspended
    On the glass,
    My life expended.

  4. The Light

    Day and night
    bright shines his light-
    as transparent as glass.
    From far and near they come,
    drawn to his flame,
    clinging as moths
    to every beam
    of His love.

    P.S. (Not sure if the past tense would be better.)

  5. The Sad Fate of David’s Moth

    As white as snow
    she’d disappear
    in winter’s dismal gloom,

    But alas
    the summer moon
    reflects her brilliant plume;

    and beeping bats
    that hear her flight
    will lead to mothy’s doom.

    • I realized as I posted that your poor moth’s fate could not be blamed on her snowy color if those bats found her with their ears (never mind that I had not read the metaphor instructions….) So here’s an extra stanza for logic’s sake:

      The Sad Fate of David’s Moth

      As white as snow
      she’d disappear
      in winter’s dismal gloom,

      But alas
      the summer moon
      reflects her brilliant plume

      drawing near
      a hungry bear.
      Her swinging wings can zoom,

      yet beeping bats
      that hear her flight
      will lead to mothy’s doom.

      • Ah, the poet’s work is never done, and neither is the poem. Thank you for the extra thought and stanza, Buffy. I like this version better too.

    • Well lookyhere! Hey Larry, thanks for joining in with a fun poem! That little moth should blush with pride to be so well treated.

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