~
of her are
countless stories told,
ancient face angelic;
some think she a
seductive mistress,
while some see none,
but lunar cold.
but others find
her gaze majestic;
never sleeping,
memories keeping,
always watching,
ever seeking... as the
world below unfolds.
eyes that
never turn aside,
her tidal draw,
that ne’er subsides;
and flows within,
her mother's pride;
for even when
we see her not,
unbroken gaze,
men's deeds engraves;
of ev'ry tribe,
the fateful scribe;
she the keeper
of this race!
~
post script.
*since childhood i have found the moon to be entrancing... both beautiful and mysterious. surely i am not alone in conjuring mystical theories and fantasied metaphors for our lovely lady above!*
as the ever watchful eye in the heavens above, do you, like me, wonder if just maybe it is she who metes out justice, who deals man's swift reward? and what if, just maybe, those who to our eye, seem to escape the consequence of their actions, who seem to skate along unscathed... what if their consequences are simply too great to unveil in this realm, and instead, she, the fateful, faithful scribe has rendered and reserved for them in the next, their recompense and just reward? i shudder to think of it!
~