Moon

The moon is a mysterious child
That may run her dark fingered lips
Above your brittle lines or
She may squeeze
Gently in and out
As im sure your favourites do

sometimes I sense her joys
and sometimes I live her quiet pain

Smaller voices quote a time
When she will go
All through time they say
She gathers that will by increment
But where will she be in the vastness of this plain

Through the certainty of death
I know no parent should see its young defiled
So may her journey be undefined in words
And long
But not without hazard
As by the force of chance we are annealed to be
Both complete and flawed
Which is the very essence of existence
And thus of pleasure
And i hope
When her journey is fulfilled
That she is beatified
By that consequence