The Pale Moon

Now, the pale moon—it sits—

in exploding shimmer and glitz,

demanding the attention of the prowling.

Under clear, darkened skies,

you can hear the sun-gazers’ cries,

calling out for their star with a lonesome howling.

Like, it will somehow come and save

all of them from their grave

of shallow and heated desperation.

I’ve seen what it can do.

It doesn’t fully pull me to you.

It just leaves an exhausting wake of separation.

But, gravity is quite a force—

a natural phenomenon of course—

which all energy is brought toward one another.

The crux of universal structure—

a weak interaction in nature—

has anatomically shaped us. Go figure.

Speaking of forms,

When you’re completely forlorn.

It’s not unusual to become a shape-shifter.

That moon, as it pulls,

blindsiding all the star-gazing fools,

holds those prowlers who remain darkness-drifters.

Yes, only they can see

through lenses of gravity.

Their eyes are useless, but they rely on that source.

Don’t be fooled by the night,

just because it’s the opposite of light.

It’s symbiotically a much greater force.

You think you can judge,

while maintaining a grudge.

You’re fooling yourself, but that’s not bizarre.

You think that a rock

doesn’t hold any stock;

because, you put all your eggs in a star.

The difference for me

is in the way that we see.

That sun’s fire rages wild with a burn.

It might light up the sky,

but will eventually die.

The moon will never take that turn.

It’s been provably said

your star is likely already dead.

That rock is solid, commanding flight and tides.

It will continue to linger on

long after many forms are gone

and will hold its own even if it collides.

The only thing I’m asking of you

is to reconsider your view.

Not everything that is bright is actually warm.

Sometimes it’s the dark,

even though its bleak and it’s stark,

is where shape can actually take form.

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