Thoughts of a Moth

I sit alone at a table

In a little cafe.

Rain runs down the window panes

Like little rivers running their course,

Blurring the photograph of the

Outside world through stained curtains.

Above me, the faulty fixture of light

Flickers on and off in frantic flashes,

A glimmer of hope on a dreary day.

My eyes are fixated to the light,

Entranced by it in the same way a moth is,

Dreaming to capture a sliver of good before the end

In a world distorted by rainy visions.

A world where I find myself alone

With these thoughts of a moth

In a little cafe.

So come, sit at my table

And I will tell you these things.

I will show you how to see

The light through rainy window panes.