There is indeed a man in the moon,
Shy for half of each day,
When the sun isn’t supervising,
He peers down to Earth timidly,
Our most dedicated spectator,
At times giving a crescent grin,
Cheesy and mischievous across his craters,
At other times freeing little comets as tears,
Sobbing into velvety nebulae,
It’s unclear what inspires these bouts of emotion,
But it’s said he sees all,
So maybe his lunar cranium holds our morrow,
Perhaps he knows what is coming,
For better or worse.
The moon calls,
The night desires me,
And I sit up as if commanded,
The dark has washed over me,
All hands and caresses,
Kisses on the neck,
Her crescent form atop me,
A blanket of lunar warmth,
Though her hands are stardust lambent,
I cannot see her with my weary eyes,
But the night breeze whispers of her presence,
My repose becomes akin to a dream,
The moon is a generous beau,
I love the night,
And my tears fall come the morning,
A lament before the sunrise.
There was an eclipse last night,
The atmosphere grew heavy,
I scanned it with bloodshot eyes,
And I grew fearful,
To witness such beauty being obscured,
By a shadow of such an evil thing,
Witching hour…
As the lunar goddess was enshrouded,
The voices began their furor,
Rageful claws bore down,
Driven insane by the night air,
Be they spectre or succubi?
I was not privy,
New dawn…
I awaken sore and beaten,
Crimson scratches down my back,
A bruise or four,
I leave the abode into daylight,
The sun has taken the sky,
And I grow fearful.
Sleep escapes me,
I claw at its heels numbly,
At last I give up,
Time for a walk,
Or is that sleepwalk?
The kaleidoscopic sky beckons.
I’m drinking in the night sky,
As if it were cultured wine,
Taking in its sights and flavours,
Regal and exotic,
Lavish and unexpected,
It is my celestial Aperitif.
I’m taking in all of its lights and colours,
Streaks of energetic and prismatic lights,
Impish stars peeking from behind clouds,
Playing eternal hide-and-seek with stargazers,
Distant foreboding light pollution,
Like a firestorm just out of touch.
I can’t help but shiver,
Shiver at the enormity of it all,
As the moon grins,
And the soothing breeze nips at my flanks,
I see how minute I am,
How infantile mankind must look to the galaxy.
Only the night sky reveals this cruel fact,
And displays it to us in the night,
Until the sun rises once more,
And hell begins anew.
The moon is an icon to humanity,
A symbol some would say,
Of mankind’s progress,
An affirmation,
A testament,
A statement,
An idol.
Humanity reached the stars they said,
We are chosen they uttered,
The moon was conquered,
Mankind sipped victory,
What cavalier simpletons!
Do they not see the moons dark side?
Do they not watch as it turns away from us?
As if to hide an ominous grin.
The moon laughs at us,
Even smirking,
As we revel in our imagined victory.
Humanity reached the stars they said,
But as the moon turns,
It cracks a devilish grin.
You see,
The moon knows what’s waiting for us out there…
I am hers,
And she will be mine.
I gaze upon her countenance nightly.
I worship her glowing radiance,
I marvel at her saintly luminosity,
I dote on every chilling whisper,
I cherish her mysterious embrace,
I admire her womanly curves.
I am hers,
And she will be mine.
Bah!
I speak not of some humble woman,
But of the grandest beauty in this mortal coil,
See how she watches over us,
Even as the treacherous sun turns its back.
If only I could caress her.
I am hers,
And she will be mine.
This void betwixt won’t keep us apart forever!
I’ll tear the very heavens down to kiss you,
To bask in your lunar glare,
To massage your crater-strewn form,
To take a place in the cold beside you,
To waltz in orbit with you.
I am hers,
And she is mine.
Or else.
WorldofHarley 