When the Moon was high,
whilst the Stars were radiant.
Her city walls would crumble,
she'd set them down brick by brick.
Its vital arteries exposed and laid bare,
just herself, the Moon and the Stars present.

The houses were empty,
except for paintings on their walls.
Dust had conquered each house,
only being displaced by her visits.
Alone she would gaze at each painting,
waiting for them to gaze back at her.

My tears, they fall.
They pool deeply.
I drift in my ocean.
The tide oscillates.
Trembling, I drown.

The Sun looks down.
His smile is warm.
He shines everyday.
He is inspirational.
But he can burn me.

The breeze dances.
Unconfined and free.
It guides me gently.
The wind is liberating.
But can’t reach deeply.

The mountains stand tall.
They cradle me softly.
They are grounding.
They are stoic and sturdy.
Yet they are too earthly.

When the sun sets,
the breeze subsides,
and the mountains sleep.
I see her peaceful above.
She calls herself the Moon.