Two Faces of the Moon
In the shadow of a moon with two faces,
I walk, a tangled web of woven traces.
His kindness, light that warms a wintry day,
His wrath, a storm that sweeps my thoughts away.
Twice-born, he seems, in this shifting form,
God in the sunrise, devil in the storm.
I sought a path, a compass true and north,
To steer clear of him, yet escape his worth.
His laughter echoes, bright and joyous chime,
Then fades to whispers lost in cruelest time.
His hand, a fortress, safe and strong and warm,
Then turns to iron, leaving hearts forlorn.
I built my walls, each brick a whispered vow,
To never mirror what I see somehow.
Yet in the mirror, glimpses haunt my gaze,
His eyes, his smile, in unexpected ways.
But wait, a spark, a thread of sunlit gold,
He shares his stories, secrets yet untold.
His flaws, a mirror, sharp and unforgiving,
A chance to mend, to rise, to start re-living.
Perhaps the moon holds wisdom in its sway,
Not light or dark, but both to find the way.
To weave the threads, the kindness and the pain,
Into a tapestry, my own, unique domain.
For in the dance of light and darkest shade,
My father's face, a lesson unafraid.
To break the cycle, choose a different light,
And be the sun, not moon, in my own night.
So let me rise, above the borrowed gloom,
Embrace the fragments, forge a different room.
My father's shadow, long and ever near,
But I, the sun, will cast my own light, clear.
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