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Is that a moon I see,
Flickering its solitary eye down upon me.
Casting earth in the light of its mysterious glow.
Hurling shimmering rays upon the winter snow.
Is this heavenly orb some kind of monster eye.
Making me feel suddenly self-conscious and shy.
I gaze through the window sleepless in the wee hours,
Imagining myself a prisoner behind bars in medieval towers.
The sight of the imperious moonbeams shine forth accusingly;
The heartless eye stares down upon me, even if it can’t see.
Unlike the daytime sun, it casts off no bursting flares,
The light of the moon is borrowed; this is what it shares.

I get up quietly and walk to the window in bare feet;
I wrap myself up for protection in the winding sheet.
The old man of the moon once filled my childhood fantasy;
Its craggy face scares me, turning my fantasy into reality.
The twinkling stars lose their mystery, they cannot compete
With the light of the full moon whose phases are now complete.
I am a child awake in the middle of the night wishing to see;
I stare up in wonder at the blind eye looking down upon me.
In the blackness of the night, this pale barque seems to float
Ever so slowly, as in a mirage, through the heavenly moat.
They tell us in school the moon is a lifeless sliver of ancient rock.
With light obscured by earth’s shadow, but I just stand and gawk.

On that night, I simply listened; the moon had a message to tell.
With a wink, I fell down further and further into its wishing well.
It seemed like I wanted desperately to steal something away;
What’s wrong with having a little piece of the moon, just to play;
It’s only a rock, a primordial moonstone, but oh, so beautiful anyway.

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