The Other Side Of The Moon

The prince of the darkness, yet not princely by far,
Every night, watches over the dozing population.
Over the calm, sleepy wind, drearily rustling the proud tree.
Observing the last of the midnight bird, and its unsuspecting prey.
Passing by the window of that boy, that the sun spoke of,
Naughty little brat, but in the streaming moonlight, a harmless angel.
The cool moonlight that drenched the burning sands of the deserts,
The naughty moonlight that stole peeks at cosy, cornered, lovers,
The magnificent moonlight, that cut through the dark forest,
The soothing moonlight giving company to distressed souls,
The creepy moonlight, frightening humans off the zombie’s-land,
The majestic moonlight, cutting through the blinding darkness,
Giving eyes to the living dead, and taking them from the rest.
The soft feather, trampled all day under the reign of the sun,
Floats freely guided by the moonlight, and upon the drowsy wind.
Smiling upon all the wonders, in their true state that he sees,
The moon, in all his glory, shines brighter with pride.
The spotted moon, himself, for days, turns away and sleeps.
As the bright face that lit their ways, now wanes away,
The lost wind, now stops to blow, and rests till the light returns.
The proud tree, a glory in the white, now stands ignominiously hidden.
The feather, with no companion or medium, lies… caressing its wounds.
And the distressed souls, distressed, now more, sit distressing further.
Sans the saviour, the blinding darkness, fills every waking corner,
As the hoot of the owl, adds fuel to the fire that blazes in the night.
The cheer dies down, amongst the lovers, as the gloomy darkness sets in,
The wicked dark, reflecting only the wicked in that little brat’s face.
The land holds its breath, waiting and praying for return of the calm moonlight,
For the other side of the moon, is dark and eerie, not a very pleasant sight.