I can not live without the moon.
I can survive, yes, but am unable live.
When the moonlight is gone, the night skies turn bleak.
The forces that banish it I will never forgive.
I get scared in the night, of the vast, dark unknown.
The moon is my comfort, it’s what keeps the dark bright.
Even when it is gone, its power remains.
Sometimes it even comes out to greet me in daylight.
The more that it waxes, the more courageous I get.
I will do anything and everything I want to do.
I’ll climb mountains and I’ll sing songs.
I’ll even become a botanical guru.
But once it starts waning, I start to revert.
I become my true self, someone scared and unsure.
I get too nervous to walk and believe I can’t speak.
Then, my knowledge in botany becomes very obscure.
Hold on a second, wait!
I can’t believe it slipped my mind.
The moon’s light isn’t moonlight.
It’s simply reflected sunlight.
Yes, the moon in itself wasn’t what made me happy.
It seems my real comfort was there all along.
I never needed the moon. I see that now.
So perhaps faith in me is what I should allow.