I never knew how high the moon could be,
when you left and never came to me;
it looked cold and sterile, too far away,
not quite like, romantic poets say.

It wasn't what this lover had in mind,
that drew together, two of a certain kind;
it was just an object, out there in space,
and for the life of me, I couldn't see your face.

A silver ball, hanging in the chilly air,
without attachments... or a care;
an orb that will never be the same,
because, no more, it does not speak your name.

And too, the stars, had lost their radiant shine,
perhaps they knew, no longer were you mine;
and so, the night was darker than need be,
knowing you, no more had love for me.

I never knew the night could bring such pain,
with its silence and its quiet, sad, refrain;
but then, I never chose to be so **** alone,
and like the night, so chilling to the bone.