Moonlit Reverie
The moon hangs high,
a quiet sentinel in the velvet sky,
its beauty not in what it says,
but in what it reveals.
Silver light drapes across her,
softening edges,
casting shadows that hold no fear.
She is the moon’s chosen canvas.
The craters whisper her name,
ancient and enduring,
as if they’ve known her long before I did,
long before time carved its marks on us all.
Her eyes reflect the moon’s glow,
not as a mirror,
but as if they share the same fire,
the same quiet brilliance.
Even as the moon stands alone in the vast expanse,
its beauty is amplified by her presence.
She gives it meaning,
as if the sky itself sighs in awe
of the harmony they create.
I wonder,
is the moon watching her too?
Does it envy my fortune
to hold her hand
under its perfect light?
The moon hangs high,
a quiet sentinel in the velvet sky,
its beauty not in what it says,
but in what it reveals.
Silver light drapes across her,
softening edges,
casting shadows that hold no fear.
She is the moon’s chosen canvas.
The craters whisper her name,
ancient and enduring,
as if they’ve known her long before I did,
long before time carved its marks on us all.
Her eyes reflect the moon’s glow,
not as a mirror,
but as if they share the same fire,
the same quiet brilliance.
Even as the moon stands alone in the vast expanse,
its beauty is amplified by her presence.
She gives it meaning,
as if the sky itself sighs in awe
of the harmony they create.
I wonder,
is the moon watching her too?
Does it envy my fortune
to hold her hand
under its perfect light?