Silent hill casts a shadow on the moon, Even beauty has a dark side. Pale face aloft in freckled night Feeds me with random musings As I meander along the quiet pasture. Excavate the fertile earth and There you’ll find sterile treasures Outliving all that’s alive. I stumble on my clumsiness and taste The dirt on my tongue. Strange how life’s ambrosia is so Distasteful to its offspring. Just like love, a cloying sweetness That turns bitter over time, and When it’s gone, an aftertaste dwells. Still on the ground, I roll over to look Upon the freckled night sky. Fascinating how constellations Are merely imposed order On senseless disorder. I bet the stars laugh at our attempt To find reason where there is none. And then there’s the moon, Indiscriminately shining on even The foulest of creatures, underserving Of its generous light, Although without the sun, it’d just Be a tenebrous chunk of rock. Alone, we’d be just as unglamorous.