138: Shakespearian Moths

When the play ends and the lights go out,

we flitter home by silent roads.

Every whisper, every hum, fades

into a gentle night that dissolves our fears

of what the daylight might reveal. So we go,

treading lightly, and speak with hands and eyes and gentle tragedies,

naming thoughts that none have named

until the daylight breaks.

Then, like moths in morning light,

we flitter into shadows to await another play.

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Written by: Katrine Hjulstad

Instagram: @katrinehjulstad

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Publisher's note: Please note that all poetry published with Eudaemonia Records has been seen by our editors, and that the editors have suggested revisions where they see fit, but we believe that it is ultimately the writer's decision to accept or reject any suggestions and take no responsibility for which suggestions they accept or reject.