The Moon is cratered, crying desperation,
the marks on her skin stretch far beyond all impacts--
Her orbiting celestial guidance a withering pawn,
moving ostentatiously across the fields of our minds
and motivating sorrowful inspiration into all those
who wish to share her connection with the heavens.
The Moon is grey and deficient of life,
coated only with mounds of crumbled featureless dust
and razorous peaked mountains which shelter none.
Her craters are of magnitude unmatched, and
carrying the memories of eventless imprints,
affecting sentient beings null and watched by the same.
And the space rocks may crash into the Moon indefinitely,
and the only while we will stop in our engagements
is when she has finally been obliterated and the
tides of the oceans gone mad, and the spin of our earth
drastically distorted;
and the calamity will be unparalleled where finally
we may feel the bleak and distressed nature of this rock,
and we may watch gallantly as everything we ever knew
is destroyed completely, along with our legacy and our
self-important views.
The moon she will fade away into oblivion, and we will
travel with her into the dark of the infinite sky.