The full, ****** moon
didn't feel that super.
It's powers of persuasion,
the pull of its personality
had ebbed to an all time low.
Oh, how it ached to make
its return journey,
to head back to the light,
to resist the draw
of this lesser sphere
and to answer
the greater solar call.
Each crator craved
to add that greater gravity
to its own
and together give rise
to the highest tides,
to monster surfs
that would daunt
the most arrogant of Canutes.
No amount of talk of waning
would deny this moon
it's rightful place,
turning it's far, dark side
to face the warmth of the sun,
and orbiting on,
into a crescent
of nocturnal renewal.
Prompted by recent blood moons.
