POCK-MARKED

Look at the moon

So pale and bright and cold

Gleaming in her solitude

Gazing down upon a tree-lined street,

Teasing my blinds with

Her fragile rays;

Beautiful yet intangible

Fleetingly unbearable

A cold light that thrills

And taunts

My lukewarm existence

I wish I were her

Fierce and bold

Rising and setting in immaculate majesty

But alas I am me

Mortal and flawed

Un-luminous and human.

Published by alexiima

Life's a party in a sunflower field. Even when we wilt, we are beautiful to behold.

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