The moon releases a light, so cold
It chills me and fills me with stories untold
Another lost person, their life, a lost hymn
Whose slight silhouette this same moonlight did limn
Would wait for her lover on some far off shore,
And fall to her knees, this cold god to implore
This god, the pale moon, would her pleas disregard
Yet I pray thee, good reader; don't think the moon hard
For, for eons this heavenly body has played
Across sapphire skies, ever sure, undelayed,
And no mortal can hold long the lunar attention
The moon is forgetful, with each new ascension,
The past night is lost for the stars now to hold,
The stars keep the stories of heroes extolled.
But the moon hears the cries of the mourning and lost
And she cries for them all, and she pays the great cost
For what comfort could offer a heavenly sphere?
What aid could be given, relief for their fear?
There's naught she can share before traveling on,
So it's truly a blessing her memory's gone,
As the comfort of grievers, she can't bear the weight
Of the pain of the world, of their sadness and hate
She hears and forgets in one unending wheel
She always is turning, poor angel, can't feel
The pain of her children, the wretches of earth
She's watched us, unfeeling, since our planet's birth
She will watch ever on, till time's sand has all fell
And thereafter, good reader? Thenceforth, I can't tell.