I used to pray to the moon
Because it was the only thing that made
Sense.
Walked outside on brightly lit nights,
Pressed my nervous palms together
And wished.
See,
The moon was constant.
I could see it there on the darkest of nights.
It had cycles that never broke and
A face that never changed.
I kneeled to its beauty and
Begged it for love.
I knew it couldn't answer me.
I knew it wouldn't help.
But it always made more sense.