I am the moon's dark side,
ashamed of what might be
if I should face the earth,
the earth face me.
Once known as Satan or the Devil, now
with many an alias,
I hide my true self from myself,
from each and every one of us.
I am the darkness of the moon;
not dark as in a lack of light,
but unfamiliar and unexplored,
where all that's undesirable is stored.
I am known only in my sleep,
in your analyses of probes you send,
in what you're pleased to make
of each robotic bleep.
You ask what you would see
if you could meet me face to face...
You've dreamt of moonscapes
full of poetry and grace?
Not here, my friend; here you will find
those things that you call base.
This is a land where decency
has vanished without trace.
I am the rough side of the moon,
more mountainous and pock-marked than the rest,
abused by asteroids from birth
and left for dead, unburied and unblest.
I think the moon's dark thoughts for her,
for such are all I've ever known.
Abused, and now abuser, I
am banished to to be here alone.
I am the loose child of the moon;
beware what I well might do
when suitors come around,
as did Apollo and its crew.
Long lenses and sweet words
will cut no ice with me:
it's rape excites their tiny mind;
mine tends to orchidectomy.
The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
It all depends, you see, how you go about it. And that I cannot tell you, for that will be dictated by you and by you knowing your friends...
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