The moon is beautiful in her solitude.
From afar she is like a pearl, pure white
Like milk.
Though she knows multitudes:
She is not white like a pearl, smooth like
silk.
Surfaces are cratered, tumultuous, grey and not white.
Sometimes she is shy, disappearing behind clouds and shadowed trees,
As if she were scared of her own light.
She waxes, she wanes, she decreases
And fades, only to become brighter than ever.
She knows what it is like to be ever -changing, outshining everything in
Her splendor.

Like her, I want to illuminate dark skies.