Waxing Moon

We watch the sky turn, lustrous blue to slate black, hiding behind jagged mountains, the bright, gleaming sun now sleeps, closing its exhausted eyes. The arise of the full glowing moon takes its turn, pinned among stars in the sky. A plane up above, soaring in the sky, watch as it twists and as it turns, taking a ride, flipping around the moon. Now it hides, shrouded behind dark, ominous, and staring eyes. Aluminum shines by the light of the sun. One day, the shine not as strong, the sun among grey clouds, rolling from the west, the sky cries, swollen ducts, tears fall from eyes. Rain falls filling the oceans, boats turn, upon the shore. On tall waves they crash behind the waxing crescent of the moon. It cycles through its phases, the moon brilliant, then weak. Winter, then again sun the full moon sitting, waiting behind China. Where the clouds are grey. Fill the sky with smog. Now it’s their turn to ruin the Earth. Why pull the wool over it’s eyes? Green, with rivers of blue trailing through his eyes. Sclera whiter than craters of the moon as tears build up, sadness turns white to red like the flames glowing off the sun. The next day, green again like grass, the skies blue reflects, left troubles behind. Tall grass hides, a tiger crouched behind. Dark, creeping, stalking, opaque eyes watch. The sunset falls, half light, skies go to sleep. The new, baby moon arises. Still sleeping until its time, the sun waits. It has turned to day. The sun and the moon share an important job, for our eyes need rest behind dark lids. We watch the sky turn.