Metaphorical

moths land on the screen 
bathed in the light off the corner beam 
they appear to me as men clinging to a prison fence 
staring out at possible freedom 
only they are staring in 
into my asylum 
they wonder what it is I do 
tapping away for hours 
while fixated on this screen 
'why does he not free himself 
from this prison 
and explore the endless beauty that surrounds him' 
 
blackbirds gather just after dawn 
in the trees near my asylum 
dive bombers 
picking off the moths one by one 
as they ponder my peculiar passiveness 
 
food for thought