the moon is hard to fathom
as the bottom of the sea.
she comes and goes, a phantom,
tho she never really leaves.
inconsistant in appearance,
changes, yet remains the same.
each day a slightly different face
every night another name.
at times withholds her countenance,
or but a smile bestows,
at times, outshines the stars
while casting shadows as she goes.
the madness of the lunatic,
the swelling of the tide,
the paradigm of non-challance,
a paradox of mind.
her grand celestial dance has given
rhythm unto form.
like her each creature under heaven
dies, and is reborn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem