i hold the moon in my hands,
damaged and bruised from all that debris,
the skin old and grey
craters as deep as the sky,
wrinkles across his face:
yet he ever glows in the night sky, soft and mysterious
in the corner of the room.
But you have to notice--don't you?
That man has a smile on his face,
even if his love is a million kilometers away,
shinning, solo, warming the world
the moon and sun only meeting ever so often,
when the spheres align
and the worlds collide.
But they intertwine and revive
and the stars are always shinning under the clouds.
Old age, millennia even: they grow old, but the beauty still remains
of their opposite's polarity.
