Something Real
I don’t have polish or shine, but I carry truth and
authenticity.
A rusty edge of a blade, the humid summer wind on your face,
the brisk bite of a fall morning.
I come with no warnings, yet I radiate warmth.
I radiate it like a fire made to last:
s’mores by a campfire on a cool, starry night,
surrounded by trees, the moon our only light.
The moon and I have something in common,
mirroring truth as both service and lifeline.
Forget perfection. Give me something real that sends shivers down my spine.
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