Thoughts from within the cocoon

Every so often, I encounter myself
in the most peculiar places:
within crowds of people wearing grey suits
or cocooned between thin blankets
patterned with smatterings of holes 
like little stars eaten into existence by moths.
And I think about how easily 
complex souls can be dulled to clouds of productivity,
just a pair of steel limbs within an ocean of glaring silver;
all claps on the back for following orders
and savoured congratulations for nothing at all.
And then I think about the legacy of the moths-
moths who spent their lives buzzing futilely around flickering lights and
carelessly flying through the night sky, 
all graceful movements, freedom 
flecked through a subtle wind and gathered within camouflaged wings 
that moved only to search for the light;
indistinguishable, fragile moths who 
lived in the same place as me
and lived for less time than I have spent sitting behind a desk
and, possibly, lived more than 
I ever have.
And I ponder how the moths were thanked only by their longing hearts 
for their lifelong, solitary odyssey
and I wonder if that could ever be enough for me,
even as I know that mere existence is not.