writing The Full Moon

[Pan the Fabulous Ferret 2,642]

Let sit, let rot my intention.

My views are led askew by the very feelings that derived them.

This accursed moon is of no help, it's light is all too inspiring.

I find myself staring away at the beauty that beholds itself to be this moon.

This moon, whose light grips me tight, not letting me continue my destructive self-loathing.

This moon, this wonderfully awefull moon. Why do you shine on me?

I am not worthy of a grace of light that you reflect so elegantly unto me.

My words do little to compliment the wonders that you bring about.

My words, taken aback, as I find myself unable to speak.

 

I attempt, mostly in vain to stray away from the moonlight.

To continue what i must do, to continue hating myself for my gifts and flaws.

Oh but how the moon shines!

It breaks my heart, and fixes it all the same.

I cannot feel myself witholding anger at any force whilst in this light.

I am sorry, I cry for you, this beautiful moon, it blesses my heart and cures my ills.

No longer do i feel the need that i started this poem with.

True, no longer must I feel such a way knowing that the moon slowly arcs this sky.

I watch it, never faltering, never pausing in my admiration.

 

But, I find that this is where my life halts, for this is when the moon sets.

No longer do I see the full moon, but rather a blazing orb of fire.

I attempt to look at it as I looked at the moon.

Trying to take in its beauty, so that I can feel that joy again, Butr I cannot.

The Sun does not wish to be seen, as she refuses to allow mortal eyes to gaze upon her.

So I feel this blatent disredard for my own pitiful life.

I find myself wallowing once again in my own despair

Loving nothing, and missing the moonlight, I cry, tears of such a pain.

I find myself writing of these turmoils, of these wallows, of these feelings for the moon.

I know not what to think, so I cast it all aside, and wait, miserably, for the moon.

 

 

 

-David Favret