You are the moon that is moored in the sky
And the moonshine that shimmers against Atlantis' cloak
So vivid, yet so pale
And I begin to wonder if you're alright
Up there, all alone atop the world.
Is it better to be carefully propped on a celestial pedestal for all men to indulge,
Or to be chaotically plunged
Into a sea of solitude and peace?
You are much wiser and older, my dear;
Is it true that
Beauty lies
In the eye
Of the beholder?