The Sun was the first to shine it’s easy love,
And the Moon appeared to glow in return.
The Moon rose as the Sun set,
And the Sun rose as the Moon set,
Balancing each other, day and night.
But then the Sun concluded one day
That the Moon didn’t really shine back,
That the Moon wasn’t also a star,
That the Moon had a hidden dark side
And was always nightfall anyway…
That the Moon was only in love
With the Sun’s reflection,
Never properly expressing it’s own lovelight—
That the Moon was degenerate, and scarred,
And ugly, and without evident signs of life.
The Sun forgot how much sky they shared,
How closely they worked together
For the good of all,
Creating a perfect universe.
So, the Sun went on shining,
Receiving a great show of affection
By all of Earth’s gifts, all the while waiting
For another fiery star, parallel and blinding,
To come closer and consume it with love,
Believing the Moon merely a dead rock.
And the Moon,
Never having shined on it’s own,
Continued to live in love,
Yet only the Moon knew
That love itself was invisible,
Existing in everything,
In the darkness,
In the unseen and in the unknown,
In all spacetime, ever vibrating
In the seemingly powerless and senseless,
In all that is deemed unloving and unlovable.