I’d rather be the moon

For she can be gazed upon

without the blinding pain of the suns’ corona

She is noxious in the darkness

Autumnal,

cold and grievous

Hanging there heavily,

lush and languorous

Like the womb of the world,

she guides the ebb and flow of life

Selenic and motherly,

She is fertile and ever changing

Her surface is cratered with millennia of wear,

but she still glows beautifully, unaffected,

like a goddess of the night.

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