revised
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The Moon Speaks
The moon never wavers or is ever still.
Steadfast she whispers, that's my secret.
Just as the force that motions what sails or floats.
Look closer. Observe that I'm far from perfect.
Bumped and nicked, I display a history that circles
my stern-faced surface of hinted pre-imaginable ages
flamed white with furious billow.
Rough valleys and rocks trek in silence my unseen miles
of end-alls or thresholds of mythic proportions.
Intrique of solo roundness, like every
story I present two sides, meaning
loony or goddess. Lightness or dark. Good and evil.
Note the lucent fingers of mystery
that cradle my craters and phases.
For how many of you
from the Olduvai Gorge until the end
of all time, look to
my splendid light to fathom amswers?
Yet I grieve it's not mine to claim or answer.
Together we shall wonder at the mystery
and gaze and wander infinite orbits farther
yes, farther into the frozen of forever night.
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