I frighten me by my capacity for evil.

Yesterday, I murdered a moth.

As cold blooded as Richard Widmark

pushing the wheel chaired old lady down the flight of stairs

while he stares, grinning into the camera.

I found the moth in my study, hidden beside a bookcase.

Just as easily, I could have placed her

out on the back porch and watched her flutter off.

But my reptilian self took over, so just for fun

I dropped her into the toilet bowl.

To finish her off,

I pissed on her while her soaked wings

circling round, slipped off the porcelain sides of the tank.

Too late, I caught me in the act.

My low tolerance for guilt

overwhelmed my sinful love of power over…

I pulled her out with my tissued hand,

carried her onto the porch.

Laid her there, hoping.

But to no avail.

It was too late.

She was dead,

like the old lady, crumbled, broken, at the bottom of the stairs.

There was a soul there!!!

But worse than forgetting that,

I simply had not cared!

I destroyed a moth.

I pray now for forgiveness.

And I hope that little smidgen of divinity

floating around out there somewhere

finds enough love to grant it.

I pray that somehow her forgiveness

will temper my hot lust to find another living being

and kill it.

But given what I know of our History,

I doubt it.

Amen.