just a prose type poem that i hope makes my message a little clearer |
The sun Brilliant and showy in it's trek across the sky But if you try to look at it, to see it's true intentions, You become blinded by its shimmering outer layer. And then there's the moon It's silvery splendor seen by few For many eyes have shut The sun Dancing for all to feel it's warmth and greatness The flowers turn their heads To see it, to follow it, it is their idol They reach their faces to it In hopes to feel its touch. And then there's the moon After the flowers bow their petals After they have been scorched by the mocking heat of the sun It is there, to give them the refreshing drink of cool shade But they never know it. The sun Who in the winter displays great light, But the warmth never touching the frozen ground Yet all are tricked into believing that the sun will warm them Dispite the frost And then there's the moon Who by traveling at night is mysterious Unknown When you look up to it, you see straight through to its craters and faults A face, etched with its years of being a nobody Until somebody sees Until somebody turns for the moon, not the sun For the moon, the one who does its work without asking for anything in return And though more people turn to the sun The moon moves the tides |