Poetry

The Moon’s

She’ll tell you stories of the galaxies about him time after time,
like how the stars sang lullabies to the sun,
and like how darkness blankets the sun to sleep,
for its an oscillate representation of how his heart was hers to keep.

And she’ll tell you stories of the galaxies about him time again,
but never on an oath of planets and galaxies that stays the same,
where she was the sun and he was the moon,
and her stories of the galaxies about him would come to an end far too soon.

But she’ll tell you stories of the galaxies about him again – this time increasing sync to her own heartbeat,
hoping for a moment in time where day and night could just meet,
for that was the only wish she asked upon the night stars,
though she fathom it could’ve even took its trip anywhere near Mars.

Alas, she didn’t know she was wishing upon her own,
for she was the star in the daylight tone,
but a twinkle of hope was far better than her rays in light of fears,
even if, time was injustly count in light years.

She’ll tell stories of the galaxies about him a less more,
and also on the gloomy day where the rain poured,
and maybe then, she’s ready to end,
that the sun and the moon were never meant,
or maybe it was just the time – they never had to spend.

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