I love the moon and how it hides
behind the mist and clouds above
with its white obfuscated eyes
staring down at us all, plotting
waiting to make that silent move
the quiet plotting orb up high
its silver hands brushing the earth
a faded light that casts no shades
a cold desperation that lies
in wait for a new hand to shake
for a new friendly face to greet
the autumn face of the Lune
how it smiles, cold, calculating
waning on the knife's edge of night
enticing it's bacchanine flock
to go forth, feasting and drinking
fighting and fucking, loud and bright
ahead of their master, old moon
who hangs back and watches its pawns
from its seat behind cloudy skies
-o0o-
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