A/N: yes I know, I know. Another moon poem. Trust me I know.
There is a certain way to love the moon;
a certain way to know if light loves you.
I never liked the sun,
How could I? For I have never seen it,
only have known everything else by it.
I never liked how it thrived on distraction,
found the perfect way to cure its audience
of their attraction,
How it blinds us every time
we wonder at it's face.
Maybe it was my jealousy at its confidence,
how it never doubted it's purpose,
it was made to shine and that was it.
Perhaps it convicted me because it didn't need an audience to radiate light.
It reminds me to often, I suppose, of my own plights.
I have always loved the moon,
(Subtle and forever soon approaching)
though I didn't always love the night.
But it wasn't the moon, it was the lack of light.
But I grew and found that light hides
in dark places and the absence of fear
lets the eyes see it more clearly.
There is no danger,
no condemnation in its silver beams,
it lets me look as long as I please
and shares my sorrows with me.
Its light does not punish, is not harsh,
it is in darkness that one can behold
the wonders of its face.
And there in lies the difference.
Faces.
For how lovely it is to see
the thing that brings such lovely light,
how wonderful to look boldly at it knowing
it will not turn you away but look back.
Claire de la Lune, I have only loved the sun
because it gave me you.
SK
