dear moon,
isn't it strange how
so many people tend to
become songs and poetry
but will never notice
our world is full of illusions
of unspoken words
and memories
how bizarre to think
of all the world
the thousand cities
that never sleep
how bizarre to think
of the galaxies
the dying stars
the engrossing black holes
the verge of phenomenon
how bizzare to think
that i remain here alone
in a capacity
once every night
and think of
of you alone
out of it all
