The cycle of the fight

We are the all dancing maggots,
We feed on the demise of the greater creatures of the world,
Surviving on death,
With every breath,
Until one day we become a fly,
And kiss this world goodbye.

We settle through the webs of the world,
Too afraid to go any further in case we get tangled and trapped,
Afraid of the spiders that may come and devour us whole,
The invisible threads decide which way we go, how far we can move,
Arachne weaves her tapestries despite of the gods, who look down upon us mere flies,
As we play the games and listen to their lies.

I am the Moth to the flame,
To hypnotised by the brightness and the power,
Unaware of the game,
Seeing all that’s sweet and blinded by the sour,
Burnt so many times,
Still able to feel the pain.

I am the caterpillar sat on the branch,
Who will one day cocoon myself from sight,
Until I get the chance to take flight,
In the form of a butterfly full of colours bright,
Only to be bright for a few days,
Psyche takes me away,
There I shall stay.
And the world goes on.