I’ve wanted to write a poem about the moon for a long time.
That luminous night orb is often beautifully observed through two large windows from my room. Whether it is full or partial, it always seems to evoke some hidden feelings that words can’t fully express inside of me—a mystery I always want to remain unsolved.
I started writing about it roughly a month ago. It was my best attempt so far to put all my thoughts and emotions into words. I wanted to perfect it, then I told myself, “Nah. It is how it is supposed to be-perfectly imperfect.”
A cosmic beauty
painted on a canvas
of intertwining constellations,
mellow shades on your uneven skin
reflect a caring smile to a stranger.
You are imperfect perfection.
Your distant movement slowly carves
tender affection in the northern sky.
When swirling waves of intimate breeze
come to wrap my arms,
my breath is calmed
and my nights are warmed.
Time seems to pause,
and the night seems to awaken
when you sing a soothing lullaby.
My tired eyes cease to weep,
as delicate tears dissolve
into wine.
When darkness deepens,
in the solitude of a silent bonfire,
a traveler finds comfort
in spiritual drunkenness.
Let the flames embrace
forsaken desires.
The farther you drift,
the closer I feel—
your graceful silvery light
serenading over me
on empty roads.
A guiding companion
to the lost soul.
Oh, Luna,
you are a home
to a heart in hope.