The moon reminds me humans fade and swell,
Not lost, just shifting in a sacred shell.
We show one side, then turn the rest to night,
Yet still pretend we’ve always been just light.
It drifts in silence, but it shapes the seas -
A ghost that bends the world without decrees.
So too do we: in silence we create,
With hidden force disguised as quiet fate.
Its face is scarred, but never seeks to mend,
As if it knows what flaws are meant to send.
We wear our cracks like shame or camouflage,
But moons don’t beg to soften their collage.
It doesn’t rush, it waits in patient spin,
Content to wax and empty from within.
And so are we, both wild and incomplete -
A truth we learn when cycles just repeat.
Moonshaped
© Copyright: Староминскаяя, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125060505968
Свидетельство о публикации №125060505968
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