Hiding the imperfections of the night,
the moonlight sprinkles itself as salt playing hopscotch on voids.
Thin beams of light bounce off the depths of darkness
as brilliance learns to stretch itself thin
concealing the well-worn face of the sky’s black oceans.
Like matching tattoos or friendship bracelets,
this age-old symbiosis is written in the age-spots of the moon like hieroglyphics
indelibly etching the story of life,
transcribing even their inside jokes
of when darkness learned how to love light.
The moonlight has a beautiful soothing touch to earth,
calming fears as the night approaches.
The under-praised hero in this human struggle,
is easily forgotten,
smothered behind the star-like qualities of the sun.
I want the moonlight.
No blistering rays,
a hero that I can look upon and say
Most tend to marvel over full moons as they sit in brilliant arrogance.
But what I find most beautiful is the sliver of moon that still manages to pierce the night sky.
An impenitent drop of light willing to hug the absence thereof.
He stretches out his thin frame in the chase of night.