Inconsequential poems.

Aliam stellam cuique tinea

Moths are dancing,
quietly tonight.
They are sorrounding,
the nearest light,

but im sure that
if they could,
they would reach,
the furthest stars

and they are dancing
all to the same song,
dressed in gray and brown,

the biggest one
has a shade of white,

yet they are different
between themselves,
because im sure,

the small one,
wouldn't want to go
to our sun.

No, it it'll fly
to the nova,
that hasn't yet by no eye
been witnessed on the sky,

and the one beside it,
it won't want to prove itself,

No, it'll choose a red star,
for it thinks red is unique

and the one
resting on the right
it'll just choose the closest one,

and so the moths
all around the nearest light,
might be indistinguible
from outside,

but each one will choose
a different star
away from this sky.