I am the moon's dark side,
ashamed of what might be
if I should face the earth
and earth face me.
Once known as Satan or the Devil,
but 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 dreamed, I hear, 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 unblessed.
This is a recycled, slightly re-edited poem first posted back in May and now entered for Poets United's Poetry Pantry
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...
Hello everyone who follows David King (My Father). On behalf of the family this post is to let you know that Dad sadly passed away, peacefu...
extract from the poem Koi by John Burnside All afternoon we've wandered from the pool to alpine beds and roses ...
A Birthday in April ~ Wordsworth Prompt from The Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (The first of three posts which will celebrate the l...
What makes us suppose that only the living grieve? Now all but lost in this new and familiar world of tall, leaning-together buildings...