Comments Inbox
| |
Found When Searching
The moon is neither woman, man, nor god of ghastly sky
But reflections of the light it gives, it reels back to its eye
To whence or what its purpose is, you know no more than I, you could not more
than I
For artificial chill and dark were nothing less to fear
Than tangent, after-yawning Earth on-puzzled by a sphere
Accusing me and pointing out a specter in the mirror
And distant stares it too spent on me, gazing through the mirror
And the moon- it tells me not to hide, but beckons me, please come outside
And walking through Earth’s mutterings I, in the rank, comply
Where the eye can better see me, from the fig leaves that it rides
And though I hide in shadows, the fig leaves through it shines
Just to look at me is all, even into my eye
Once done, I run for dark cold halls and after wonder why?
For what the moon receives, it shines- right back into the sky
And on and on and on it travels until I face whose mine
… and look him in the eye
|
|
|