My eyelids wane like a raging
Sun strewn across
An unexpecting moon’s surface
To be viewed
From the thin slice of this desolate
Bitter blue planet.

Given a phase
By the uncomfortable
So that 28 days were easier understood,
And when eclipses flair,
Screaming across the sky,
We predict
So that schedules are constructed,
Making safe the unstable.

Writing a soft chill
When the dark side
Is the point of complexion shining
And we give labels
And names
To block out our
Primal fear
Of being so far away
And so forgotten to the stars.

The waxing and waning moon
In the sky residing,
Has no phases to itself,
Its rotation is not
But an orbit around our world.
Blame it on the moon,
But the moon never changes
Unlike these eyes
Eclipsed by your arrogance,
And shamed through your labels.

Not everything has to align
To your egocentricity.
Not the labeled one in the sky,
And not these,
Whose iris blocks out the aurora
That rages shallowly behind.
Your view may be true to you,
As the moon is only true to itself,
But the only difference:

One is an opinion
Forged within but a lifetime
As the other has folded upon tens
For a myriad of chances to evolve,
And yet never changed, thus has been
Sewn into fact,
Avoiding your cage,
That, if you only looked closer,
You’d understand
These bars
Wall up only yourself,
And maybe that comforts you.

So build your walls,
Tighten the blurry line,
Make true to life
Your ability to shine
In God’s eyes.
While the outsiders
Remain,
Free to finally come to accept themselves,
Since you’re barred behind your cage,
Raging,
While the world presses on,
Without you
And your idealistic crowd.

Falter your steps
To form a line
And march, you saints,
To where the road tapers,
Maybe you too will be left behind
By those you thought
Were on your side,

I wonder if your God
Is more forgiving
Unto those who lived
With an open mind,
Than those of you
Who counted heads,
Locked yourselves away,
And despised.