The moon has her phases.
One night she’s hardly there,
The next she’s more,
And more and more,
until one night she’s everything,
And she’s sharing,
She’s open and expressive,
And loud and unfiltered.
The moon has her phases,
And I can’t help but listen to her silent whisper on some nights,
And her loud moans on others.
And if I have to wait every fortnight
To witness her, new and whole,
Then so be it.
I long for a celestial soul.
And each night as she expands,
Reveals more and more,
I will absorb her light,
Be more a friend than foe.
And even though she orders the tides,
She is weak some days
and some days the strength of the night.
Her uncertainty keeps me on my toes.
Her white light, bringing calm to my woes.
I probably cannot have her, can’t ever make her mine,
So I’ll stand by watching, admiring her rule over the night.
Dear moon, dear love,
Though you're afar, I think I'll be just fine.