Artificial Stone Poem by Wes Thompson

every month a moon so full
large enough to collapse
such insignificant objects below it
whole
until waning affairs
no longer intimidate
and but a crescent remains
like a halo
embedded in their applause
they question the floor
beneath their feet
be it asphalt or pavement
I've seen it before
dethroning such gracious
unknowing kings
it feels right for a moment
surpassing my lovers
I cease to be begged
until they can pin point
the moment they were enslaved
history can accomplish
what lies beyond fame
leave wonder unmarred
behind each mask is great shame