Lamentations for Luna

The poetry will continue unabated until the moon in her rhythms have ceased their celestial dance.

It takes time,
I suppose
To accept the rhythms of the moon.
To not want to pluck her
From the stem of her orbit,
Out from her starry meadow,
When she is in full bloom.

Instead, simply
To graciously breathe
Her soft silver radiance
In through the pores
of my soul,
While her beauteous face
Remains the jewel
of the dark heavens.

And not then mourn
In the grief of a thousand, thousand
Pale and twinkling tears
When she veils herself.
Her absence seeming to
Be measured in months,
Whilst her presence
But a flutter of the heart.

As a child, I’m sure,
I saw the wonder in it all,
And enjoyed the sport
Of a cosmic hide and go seek.

But I am older now,
And any happiness becomes
Shot through with melancholy
and the anticipation
of her leaving.

The child in me smiles
Laughs a little
And chides
“Don’t worry," he says,
"She’ll be back,
It’s all just a game.”

But I don’t hear.
I’ve become weary.
Exhausted from a game
I took too seriously.
It matters little
Whether the moon hides,
Or radiates in full presence,
If you are busy
Looking at your feet.