Our Lunar Path
For every wayfarer,
Who gazes through
A veil of gloom.
Those who seek their name
In the countless
Distant points of white
In the firmament.
Leaving behind those bound by their names—
And those who descend
Into the glow of others.
Unable to face
Obscurity
Without closing their eyes.
"Why do wayfarers march
Across trampled grass?"
Reflecting my ignorance
As I continue on my path—
Cutting through the weeds,
Against an insistent wind
A part of me refuses to give in,
Only to crawl back.
A lingering memory calls out—
Unlike the moon,
Whose rays bless
An entire world
This star
Shines only upon me.
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