Soft glow peers in darkness,
Watching over nude branches.
A newborn crescent in the brooding skies, a lunar month commences.
She gazes at us, ushers us through tribulations. But wondering,
What subsequent torment will we bring on ourselves.
We chant her in song.
We long for her. Sanctify her in legends.
She is time itself.
She makes us dance in a trance.
She is ours and no one else’s.
Her luster glints our love and madness.
She is the wolf crying. The tide rising.
She is desire and rage. She is anguish and bereavement.
She is the allure of tranquility and turbulence inseparable.
She is artistry. She is radiant. She is lightless.
She is bewitching. She is demonized.
She is us.