Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Guzmán Barquín on Unsplash

The mysteries of the moon are cold
Only to those who do not understand
Or will not gauge their depth.
Their silvered glow exceeds
The short-lived heat of sun.
Theirs is the crystal-clarity of windswept days,
The black, velvet-muffled wisdom of the night,
And deep fulfillment that is born of these.
And close within the moon’s reality
Are held the valiant effort
And the pain-strewn urgings
Of a boundless age.

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