Moths

Flying up towards the dirty yellow light,
Moths, they offer a pitiable sight.

Lured by the flickering bulb's glow,
They stop thinking, and just go along the flow.

They blindly fly up, unaware of their fate,
When they realise the danger, its always too late.

Waiting for them would be a hungry lizard
Catching the moths with the perfection of a wizard.

Or they might end up burning their wings,
Falling below the light in circular rings.

I pity the moths, they appear so brainless.
Yet, aren't we like moths, more or less?

Seeing the lure of money, we also flock.
Moving mindlessly like hands of a clock.

There are lizards waiting to catch us.
Or money burn our wings, rendering us helpless.

Still we don't stop, never do we think.
We stick around money, like a kink in a slink.

Light attracts moths, while money is our lure.
Pity the moths, only if your mind is pure.