The crescent moon is at its peak.
Amidst behaviorless crystals in orbital motions.
Tantalizing a course in mind,
Rolling its back for interpretations.
Quarrel no meaning in the face of peril-less
unaging intellect parallel to its weight
upon our dearest only earth.
Dearest only moon,
We’ll all be leaving soon.
The rush of apocalypse is at its belly.
Lasting in affairs of mercy, and mercy.
The depths of debts,
for the visions that emissioned its interpretations.
Forming out bare, bearing a birth of truth
burdened by equilibriums by a brief span
Within our skull’s unthoughtless plan.
Dearest only sun,
We’ll all be one day one.
From dust to dust and earth to moon.
We’ll all be leaving soon.