I look at two tribes,
Clawing at each others throats.

Spilling blood for ancient gods,
Our dying rock crumbles as they wage war.

Opposing forces,
One unstoppable.
One unmovable.

I wish more than anything,
That they would look up at night.

Because when he lands,
They will finally realize.

That they are more alike than they know.

And they will listen when he speaks,
Because the truth is.

He is the boy who made the moon.