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huntersmoon

 

 

The full moon fell through her bedroom window

She took the unconventional arrival as a sign of a personal gift

The moons rounded face mirrored the roundness of her own face,

 its glow like that of her own heart light

The first night she held the moon to her ear and listened

to the waves she created during high tide

“My moon” she said, “my moon.”

 

She coddled her moon in her arms like a baby,

rocking her back and forth singing a soft lullaby

Sleeping with her moon at night close to her side

 covering her roundness; only its crescent exposed

She ran her fingertips gently across her face and her soft light

“My moon,” she said, “my moon.”

 

One day they came walking through the bedroom door

They said the world is asking for her moon back;

to return home

That without the moon the world

and everyone would soon perish

“My moon,” she cried, “my moon.”

 

She hid the moon under her bed out of fear

No light could be seen, not from the moon, not from her face

Only she knew where the moon was hidden

After much anguish she pulled the moon out from her confinement

and held her close whispering to her

“My moon,” she said, “my moon.”

 

Soon she gave the moon to the ones who came

through her bedroom door

Who then gave the moon back to the world who was in such need

They returned to her asking why she gave up her moon

“Moon cry,” she said, “moon cry.”

 

The worlds balance renewed itself, harmony revisited

The tides flowed in and out, the winds blew, hearts beat to the moons rhythm

The animals remembered the cycles of days and of life

“Good Moon,” she said, “good moon.”

 

Every night she would run to her bedroom window

She would pull back the curtains to allow the moons rays to filter through

She ran her fingertips across the glass

tracing the round outline of the moons face

“My moon,” she said, “my moon.”

 

 

bkmackenzie

copyrighted 2008

 

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