This Moth.

haha

the member of hammering moss
moth have green pattern on the wing
is beatten by kushan
dead is the moth

there, that's about the best poetry i ever written in my entire life. if you read it vertical it said the moth is dead., but i think it could still fly.
 
I hate when I kill insects for no reason. It is just out of habit. I always feel bad afterwards. Maybe I should look deeper into this. It could an early sign of my future hobby of mass murdering people. :p Maybe I just like abusing my power as being bigger. I just hope that one day I don't get run over by a large truck. :grin:
 
I was one of those kids who burnt insects with a magnifying glass, and lizards in some cases. I feel no remorse, I hate insects. But I feel kind of bad about killing those lizards now :cry:

I was one of those kids who burnt insects with a magnifying glass, and lizards in some cases. I feel no remorse, I hate insects. But I feel kind of bad about killing those lizards now :cry:

Kushan crumbles the moth's wings
emerald patterns tattered
This moth no longer sings
For its spirit is shattered

The destroyer now feels guilt
May his killer feel remorse.


 
Confession, Curse and Prayer

I confess all creatures I have killed:
Flies, mosquitoes, roaches, ants in number;
Sowbugs, moths, grasshoppers, and bees;
Also beetles, snails, spiders to less degree;
Then two snakes, a quail, four frogs,
One baby robin and a rabbit stoned
In a seizure of youthful cruelty;
Two mangled woodchucks and a dying cat in mercy;
Many fish, some crabs, once a chicken,
Toads, worms and a butterfly or two.
Thus I am steeped in death like any man.

I recall so many of their resignations:
The first shock and brief fluttering,
The eyes turning slowly into themselves,
Or the small shell suddenly crushed
While the limbs still twitch and clutch
At the final glimmers of perception,
At the irretrievable thing that is gone;
And I am guilty of these destructions.

God damn the man who call this sentimentality!
Who could not think of these things
Without praying for a quiet mood?
Let nothing cruel stir in my blood again.

for Justine



The above is a poem by one of my favorites, Paul Zimmer, taken from Family Reunion, published by University Pittsburgh Press. It's a good collection of poems for anyone interested.