Our moon remains a peaceful place
Fronted by a cheesy face,
Pocked & marked
By rocks
For miles.
We stare at it way up in space
Surrounded by its milky lace,
Stoked & stroked
By light
& smiles.
Our lives move at a frightful pace,
Spiked by fungus, guns & mace,
Mixed & matched
(Like socks)
In style.
Lead guitars, drums & bass,
Each kept in a separate case,
Rocked & rolled,
Then played
A-while.
Meantime in this Human race,
Sometimes we must halt the chase,
Stop & wait,
Much like
A child.
Yearning for a fuller grace,
We turn our eyes up, just in case;
Charmed, enthralled,
Entranced —
Be-guiled.
Moon became our happy place,
A friend we kiss & then embrace:
Warm & kind,
Mundane —
& mild
Until it hides without a trace,
Like a bud inside a vase,
Dark & stark,
Concealed —
Yet proud.
Our moon reveals a quiet face —
Details subdued, somewhat erased —
Brushed & blushed
By dreams —
Unbowed.
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