The Truth About The Moon
You think the moon’s a kite to count on
when the wind won’t blow. It’s up there
and you watch it float, soar with stars
most of which you don’t know by name.
You’d like to reel it in, bring it home
for a cup of tea, let it sing for you until
the sun comes up to steal your heart.
But the moon’s a hunk of rock, not cheese.
It’s never been a compassionate beacon
gazing down benignly at abandoned souls
in search of absent, long-absconded lovers.
All those things are just words we say
to make us feel less like we do:
that we are lost as well, that we drift,
as silently as the moon, alone.
Poets And Storytellers United
Writers Pantry #53