The moon so often applied as a metaphor
in a poem that murmurs of Love and Desire.
The moon what ever it’s nightly shape, crescent or full, simply persuades the eye toward the sky.
Passing the stars as though there spark
were too minor to attract notice.
Yet the stars are to wish on,
the moon but a night light for Lovers to record each other.
I for one will say the moon is the moon,
it is the father of the sky providing balance to the vastness.
There be no comparison to the moon, its light is but a reflection of the sun after all the sun far to hot to persuade Love. The moon is cool and tantalizing.
The moon is resigned to do what it is best at.
To speak to those in Love.
Speaking of secrets, perfect secrets
that solicit no metaphors.
Garry Camp Burdick
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