A Moth
A moth, warming her wings
on the windscreen of my car,
chose to hang on to the sun
and live the rest of her journey
in the wind.
She turned her grim face
to the breeze, paper wings
slightly unfolded,
filament legs braced.
Survival is the first instinct.
We work to feed ourselves,
clothe our bodies,
build shelters.
Play along.
I wonder how long we can
hang on to this frictionless wall.
I glance at the moth.
She has squatted lower, stronger.
Her wing tips quivering,
her head moving slowly,
side to side, deciding.
She manoeuvres slightly left
to a slight angle, lowers her
forward wing to the glass,
rearward wing raised a little.
A new moth for the wind
to challenge.
Some days we meet life
head-on. On others we
decide which strengths
to lean on, which way to turn
for survival.
It’s been a testing day.
Problems seem to press in
when we’re at our weakest.
Like we can hear the
sledge-hammer
pounding closer.
The moth takes on a new form.
She has turned almost side-on,
three legs outstretched towards
the hammer-blows,
three legs behind, absorbing the beat.
Her wings look serene, caping
her body to the glass.
Holding on, somehow.
We have to hold on.
Only a little while until our reward.
Mine is a welcoming wife,
a hot meal, satisfaction
in friendships, in a book,
on a screen.
The road ahead opens out,
the way we must go is clear.
I’m willing us to keep our grip,
head down, enjoy the ride.
But inevitably we will slide,
forcefully cast
by the unyielding wind,
to the unyielding wind.
21/10/25
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Author:
FrasMac (
Offline) - Published: October 22nd, 2025 11:24
- Comment from author about the poem: Inspired by heroism in the shape of a brown moth, clinging to warmth
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
- Users favorite of this poem: Bianitalisa
Offline)
Comments2
The metaphor is a good one and well played out. Nicely written
Thank you kindly!
You are most welcome
What a moving piece. The image of the moth clinging to the windscreen becomes such a powerful mirror of our own lives — fragile, buffeted, yet still adjusting, still holding on. I felt the weight of those “sledge‑hammer” days you describe, and the quiet dignity in simply enduring until small rewards — love, friendship, a meal, a book — remind us why we keep going. Thank you for capturing both the struggle and the grace in such a tender way. 🙏🏻🕊️
Thank you for this very kind, considered and encouraging comment. You've helped to make my day!
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