Poetry of sorts

Moon

A night so cold,
is barely lit by stars.
An age so old,
won't be impressed by cars.

The night he was behind bars,
he said he'd miss the moon.
Not missing his cars,
but missing the sky's doubloon.

When he was released,
he felt its light.
It was wonderful to be released,
he would fight for the light so bright.

What is the moon to you?
I asked one day,
he said he hadn't a clue,
he was just stuck like glue.

If I were describe it, it'd be short.
This moon brings warmth,
it's a special kind of support.

The light of the moon won't leave me,
I won't go anywhere.
It can't flee,
so the glee will never leave.

It's a beautiful sight,
the moon offers me its cool light.
On my lonesome night.