He stares at the blank page of his notebook, wondering what he should write about next. As he stares into the blank page, he suddenly gets an idea and opens the curtains of his window to reveal the moon shining brightly at him. He reaches out and grabs at the moonbeams as he wakes up in the same position where he started. Filled with the inspiration of moonbeams and empty pages waiting to be written on, he grabs his pen and starts spindling poetry.
This poem is definitely a bit self-reflected on its writer (me, duh) but I felt that the sudden uprisings in my moon-related poetry needed a poem of its own
