the moth made of candleflame

She rises from the wick's last breath,
wings of amber, edged in smoke,
a small sun that chose to fly
instead of merely burning out.

The meadow holds its indigo hush.
The stars lean closer, curious —
for once, the night is not the dark.
For once, the dark has wings.

She does not fear the flame.
She is the flame, briefly, beautifully,
and the night is better for the borrowing.

An original AI-art reverie from the AOP3D studio — dreamt in pixels, delivered in starlight.

Disclaimer: All content provided is for informational and educational purposes only.