The lonely moon

 High above the restless earth, the moon drifts in silence,

a pale wanderer in the ocean of endless night.

She floats alone, wrapped in a veil of silver glow,

watching the world below, yet never touching it.

Stars scatter like diamonds across her darkened bed,

but even their twinkling cannot soften her solitude.

She gazes at oceans that rise to greet her pull,

yet no wave can whisper back the love she longs to hear.

The mountains bow beneath her gentle light,

the forests shimmer in her borrowed grace,

the rivers carry her reflection through valleys,

but still, she remains untouchable, unseen, unheard.

Once, she dreamed of the sun,

his blazing heart a warmth she could never hold.

By day, she hides, letting his fire rule the sky,

while she waits in shadow,

her love unspoken, her longing endless.

Children look up and weave her into stories,

lovers kiss beneath her glow and call her a blessing,

poets write her name in verses of sorrow and beauty,

yet none can truly know her ache—

the ache of eternity lived alone.

She is the guardian of secrets,

the silent witness of centuries,

the keeper of midnight promises,

the companion of dreamers.

And though she is lonely,

she shines without pause,

a reminder that even in solitude,

there is grace, there is power,

there is light enough to guide the lost.

So the lonely moon continues her endless journey,

not broken, not forgotten—

but a solitary queen of the night,

wearing her loneliness like a crown of silver,

forever watching, forever waiting,

forever alone.