moon

moon, rising high above... don't you know how many minstrels have died for you

can you see the lovers swearing their love with your rays upon their lips

leaving homes, the vagabonds look to you with their upturned eyes
crying softly when you hide away, treading surely when you hang, up high
you, hide all the stars when they stay close to you

the astronomers and navigators can no longer tread the star wanderer's voyage


moon, you are just an orb... shining mystically bright, waxing

werewolves answer your call, from sane men into the unthinking blood-thirsty

when you wane into darkness, Hecate's witches cackle in delight
robbers and burglars of life work with the blood reflecting a fraction of your light
you steal other's light to reflect it into our eyes. trust not the thief.


moon, mice follow your light, only to find they can never reach you
like so many have wished that they could walk on your surface to meet their lovers
you separate those who live on you from those who live on earth
and yet each night, we are forced to scan the skies to find you
our only comfort is in seeing something so serene and tranquil
still thriving despite everything else