I love the moon, though I don't know why. sometimes it's far,
sometimes it's near

as if I could catch it from the roof top.
it's gaze, so calm and peaceful,
the more I stare, the more beautiful it becomes
like a motherly love for her child.

I love the moon, though I don't know why, Each day I'm amazed by its appearance.
I watch it shift,
change shapes, and sometimes colors.

it's like the relieved feeling you get when finally lay to rest after a long, stressful day.
i love the moon, though I can't say exactly why.

Star-speckled cheeks,
eyes deep as space,
smile bright like the moon,
waves like the sun,
shimmer ethereally in the light—
but I’ll always be eclipsed.

You’re Saturn,
and I’m stuck in your orbit,
just another stupid moon.
I’ll stretch to infinity to reach you,
but we’ll never touch,
’cause we’re on
completely different wavelengths—
always been fated
never to align
and always will be.

You’ll never tell me,
“Love you to the moon and back,”
yet every night I fall asleep
thinking of a star-speckled sky.

Rage of a miser...
In a rocket to the moon
Is a variety the vanity we expect, finer
Light's and jewels of fame, can be found at home

The engines pearl, and then cease
Such a futile grace, for a lunar lander
The wake and sake we exact, to science
Is ours for a penny pinched, and an answer handier

Gold is a rock-hard silence, so thick it fell in love with you
Travail, in its wayward sigh, to wishes of silver stars, which meticulously hide
And behave perfectly, with a rolling sleep, is a bronze couth?
To these, no man's irony, has a face of determination, that is sly...

Misers be ******, nature must take it's turn
With the full cheeks of wisdom, or the kissing eye's of reason
Are we to assume, the deafness of space, to earn?
A callous, but well, beautiful way to courage's season:

On the ground we call tomorrow
A strange fate. for a muddy face and its charity of nose
Today is a shrewd levity in low, to seek the higher today, to borrow
Yesterday's smile, from a sorry voice, ready to dance the most

Over to you...
Sweet muscles and guaranteed weight, or realer sate
Of a remembered question, come from a mouth to rage at a fool
Is a worldly eye ready for me, when a tongue hungry for our fate...

At times, the clouds
try to hide the moon.
But they forget—
its light
can never be concealed.

Truth and radiance
always find a way,
no matter how deep
the darkness may be.

— Usha Maniar

Engineering to the Bridge:

"Time passed, but without us. A bit like Kepler's third, I suppose."

Express your "law" another way. Throw rocks at the moon. Stone the satellite because of your own despicable sins.

I see demise in your face. There's something strange about the through lines of your crew, the yellow journalism of their spacewalk.

Posters of the wild frontier, staggered and torn, said nothing will go wrong. That sometimes death is merely the devil changing colors.

"I think not, Captain. You laugh when you should cry. You tear to pieces the pictures of the overtaken. You run from the lie detectors. Otherwise, your narrative falls apart and all you're left with is your withered mind funneling down a ****** abyss..."

won't be different
you will fix your crooked poster
she will say you're funny,
he will cut in line for lunch
you will trip while walking
you can fight it, you can run
sooner or later you will be alone again

so you climb on your roof and scream
to the moon, that silent son of none:
"it's not my fault
  it's not my fault"

he stares back, unforgiving:
"tomorrow will be a new day
  you will count the paint marks on the ceiling
  he will look at her and smile,
  she will call you friend
  you will say something wrong
  laugh if you want, cry if you must
  it makes no difference to me"

he tells you he will come again,
& in all of this, the question lingers:

"So, why are you not writing anymore?"

Because I am in love?

"Should you not be writing more then, pouring your heart out in poems?"

Maybe...

but how do I put into words,
this feeling of being content
with a person I never knew before

how do I tell you that this time
it is not about the butterflies or the
fluttering hearts and all those fuzzies

how do I describe the silent
promises that are made to take care
of the little giggling child inside of me

how do I explain to you all the tiny
details of our personalities that are changing
to fit perfectly like the pieces of a puzzle

how do I show someone what it
takes to be strong enough to get vulnerable
and compassionate enough to get responsible

how do I write about this serenity
and knowing that I will be safe in
the hands that keep pushing me to be better

I wish I had the right words to talk about
the kind of love that slowed my racing mind and
made me realise that every day the sun paints
the sky a bit different, every night the moon
reveals itself a bit different and I get to cherish
every version of it for the rest of my life.

Autumn and I dance
October’s two step
across earth feeling
the stardust in our limbs
drawing us closer
to the moon.

Impatient bleak holds
its brush to paint
our waning on the
stark canvas
of winter’s landscape.

Even with a calendar
determined to strip
us down to fading,
we are bursts
of burnished gold
encouraging the sky
to dress in its deepest blue.