It calls to all the faraway places
This shining trinket which hangs
like a gold pocket watch
ticking the time away
as it marches
With an allure
like none other
Must I look at it?
For it is a tortuously divine and
undefined device of the highest order
And you know of what I speak,
You who make the same useless wish
You who brandish that ego to hide a bravado stalled in mid stride.
One that knows that wishes are cheap
as they are never expected to be paid for
But they are always paid, seemingly or not, they are always paid for.
So stop it Moon.
Stop dispensing dribbles of hope that are just as dry as your rocky surface
and let me just look upon you with a child’s delight and wonder
at your ever changing ways
While I wander through this world in search of more realistic mysteries
which I may truly call my own one day.
by Philip Wardlow 2016
3 thoughts on “The Moon”
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