Moths of Melancholy
Melancholy landed soft today,
like a moth lighting on a sweater,
sensing it had discovered an easy lunch.
Other days it hits hard,
like the frantic moth
who hammers a lighted window--
a battering ram,
believing it must get through
or die in the process.
Sometimes I wonder
if I am that old sweater,
that gently serves the melancholy.
Sometimes I wonder
if I am the beacon
that draws it.
I don't want to be either,
sad or moth-eaten.
I'd rather be
the warm sunshine
and sweet nectar of flowers
that tempt joyful butterflies
to come to visit
and stay for tea.
How splendid that would be.
But I fear I am only
a forgotten wool sweater
preferred by moths of melancholy.
~Elise Skidmore ©2026
I love this one
Thank you so much, Gail. It’s wonderful to see you here.
Hauntingly beautiful, Elise.
Thank you, Becca. The idea of melancholy landing softly has been playing in my brain for a week, and finally came together. I’m so glad you liked it so much.
I read–and read again, feel the emotional energy–the sigh–within — or was that just me sighing? Yes, this feels as comfortable as that sweater and as peacefully ‘right’ as the welcomed butterflies. Beautifully composed!
Thank you so much, Judy. I love hearing when a poem has struck a chord with someone.
I could’ve sworn I’d already commented on this one. Hmm. In any case, this is the perfect metaphor for melancholy.
Thank you so much, Linda. I’m glad so many people seem to like this one as much as I do.