The Moon is an Honest Manipulator
The moon is an honest manipulator;
she makes no secret of what she can do.
She pulls at the sea like a long-ago lover
and wakes every ache we believed we outgrew.
She covers in silver what daylight made plain,
softening edges and changing the view.
She dresses old sorrow in something like longing
and makes what once wounded feel tender and new.
She knows how the lonely will stand at the window
and search through her light for a face they once knew.
She knows we grow tender beneath all her silence,
believing the past may still ache for us too.
She turns empty roads into paths worth returning,
makes shadows seem holy and heartache seem wise.
She lends borrowed beauty to all we’ve abandoned
until we mistake it for truth in our eyes.
But the moon never claims that her light is forever
or promises healing for wounds held within.
She cannot repair all the things that were broken,
she only persuades us to look there again.
Perhaps that is why I still trust her completely,
though I know every trick she performs with her light.
She may bend what I see, but she never deceives me.
She reveals what I hide from myself in the night.
The moon is an honest manipulator,
and the heart knows her ways just as well as the sea.
Both draw us toward what we thought we’d forgotten,
then light what was hidden and ask us to see.
She does not create all the longing we carry
or summon the sorrows we buried too deep.
She only uncovers what daylight has quieted,
the truths that grow restless whenever we sleep.
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