I still sit in the light
From the high windows.
The stolen men are quiet
And mind and body are taking a break.
I sit and think to myself,
I think of the moon.
Then the lovely ones come.
They come from the walls and circle around me.
The lovely ones,
The proud lovely ones,
They envy the moon
And hate it for its magical looks.
In their eyes live stars,
The jealous ones.
They dance around me,
Trying to make me reach for the
Stars and forget
The moon.
But I push them away,
Them and their bresses of gray.
I will reach for no one.
The lovely ones,
They turn sour at my denial.
Their inner ugliness rises,
They become enraged at the moon,
They are enraged at me.
The lovely ones melt,
Melt back into the walls,
And I am left to
Ask if I should reach for
The moon.
