Lady Moon (Poetry)

All those stars in her hair
and yet my lady moon seems sad —
listless as she wanders through the dark
aging and slow but with
a powerful frail dignity
aloof to eyes that watch from far below.

Imperious she shoulders past
or slips silent inbetween
the ignorant and loutish clouds
that mob her like some vagrant beauty queen
of yesteryear — her looks have waned —
her cheek pock-scarred and pale.

Alone she hauls tradition’s endless shadow-train —
heavy superstitious links the centuries
have forged from words believing lovers strung
across her silvered tracks. She gathers up
whispered scraps and witchy invocations —
chaining passion fierce to mad obssession...

She pulls a world of burdens in her wake —
small wonder on occasion she looks weary
with the weight of it — the responsibility
of being the eternal face of romance.

But duty has its limits — she soon brushed off
two visitors who failed to keep their proper distance.