The night was young.
The moon had traversed,
but only a minuscule fraction of the sky.

Between the stars was quiet...
And the breeze gentle.
Waves weren't angry
and they caressed the shore
with unspoken affection.

Ripples in the water took their time
riding the surface -
harnessing, carrying each piece of the moon.
Whispering to each other in a silent pact.
With plans to spread the shards of silver
as far as they could;
before gifting it to the next batch of carriers.

If the moon exploded into a million tiny pieces,
that was what it would look like -
confetti of silver and white
strewn over a large black cloth
that's gently flailing in the wind.

A spectacle of unwavering continuity...
Beauty and grandeur in such
tender unrest...

He speaks with conviction.
He recites the truth.
He reminds me of the pitfalls,
and the consequence
of actions uncouth.

He warns me of me.
He is the voice of reason.
He's forward and knows no subtlety.
He is the failsafe,
the adult and caution.

He challenges me always.
He is unforgiving with his words.
He's always into blacks and whites;
Never the greys.
Between us,
he's the lighthouse in my head.
My saviour,
my invisible third.