The moon seldom cries when lost to the day
Her patina too pale to see sodden tears
Which fall upon the earth in falling stars
Yet there are times when her facade is streaked
Her makeup running streams eroding the lunarscape
Changing her face to match the cold of space
The moon seldom screams when eclipsed by the sun
Whose shadow blankets and obscures her body
Forgotten to all as she is outshone by solar radiance
Her blush concealed from any who would care
That she exists and is still there waiting her turn
To shine again, red with anger at the slight
The moon often feels blue, suffocating in the void
A waxing doll slowly melting into acne worn craters
Pocked with scars from the many collisions
That define her genesis of being discarded
Ejected from her home to sit quietly and watch
The warmth bathe the Earth as she freezes
The moon often wanes when thrown aside
The world spinning and turning while she simply hides
Desperate to return to the celestial masquerade
To waltz and feel wanted by skies unaware she'd left
Nor triumphant celebration when they see her return
Just silence- Her only companion to call friend