The Moon

The swirling tempests of human souls

Bound to the iron and bathed in the rain

Gaze past the dim ashes that cover the clouds

To view their star’s reflection on the dark deserted shore.

Projected on its aged and pockmarked face,

Dreams of gutters and glimmering gold alike

Bask in the warmth of the onslaught of light

That approaches from the eastern expanse of infinite dark.

Each dip in its skin takes on a different face:

Forlorn enemy

Forgotten friend

Long-lost love

And all in between.

Colors of blushes and envy and ailments

Blur as the spectrum shifts with the tide,

Masking brilliant gold with far away gray

Yet unable to dim the hope there that resides.